He sets me up on the counter right next to his half chopped avocados and ground beef. I haven't been picked up like that since I was a little girl, so effortlessly. I like it. I wrap my legs around his waist as he begins to walk his fingers under my shirt, along my spine. He smells amazing, I bury my nose in his neck and inhale, not really caring how he'll react to that.
I just act in the moment, kind of how I acted when he asked me to come home with him. At that moment in time, the answer was yes. If you would have told me earlier in the night, before coffee and our tour of downtown, that we would end up spending the whole weekend together in bed I would have informed you I was not a slut.
But here we are, in his little incense filled apartment, making love while we make dinner. Well, not yet. If he keeps nuzzling into my breasts and kissing my neck like that though, it wont be long.
Later on, after the dishes have been washed and put away, we're laying naked in bed. My leg hitched up on his bare thigh. With one long finger he traces the curvy line of my thigh. "Very nice," he whispers.
I smile and run my fingers through his feathery red hair. I like the way he devours me with his eyes and doesn't seem to get full. It's nice knowing that I'm not too much for somebody. Not too big. I return the favor, admiring his long, toned thighs and the long line of his back. I take in his loose skin, and wonder how much he use to weigh. I don't ask, I know when he's ready he'll tell me himself. I lean forward and try to kiss every single freckle on his shoulder. "Stand up, I want to see you!" he instructs me with a kind of authority I love to hear.
Giggling I scoot out of bed and stand before him, in all my 5'3, 210 lb glory. I twirl like a ballerina, with my arms above my head, showing off every single last hair on my unshaven body. When I stop and place my hands on my hips he twirls his finger, telling me to do it again. "slower this time," he laughs.
Slowly I rotate, feeling my nipples harden under his gaze. When I've gone all the way around and am facing him again I ask, "So what do you think?"
His eyes slowly take me in before he answers, "You're beautiful."
He sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed, motioning me towards him with his hands. I step into his touch as effortlessly as he picked me up earlier. His warm palms cup my hips and glide over my belly, squeezing softly. "I like this," he whispers into my skin.
My flesh puckers and ripples as he dances across me, "And I like your thighs too," he adds, as if making a list.
Gently he turns me, I jump a little when he slaps my ass. We both laugh at my surprised reaction. "And this ass!" he practically bellows.
I explode in a giggling fit and frolic away from him, tempting him to chase me, to play with me.
In bed again, tired and sweaty, we talk. He tells me about getting rid of the weight, and deciding not to be that way any more. "Do you ever feel self conscious about your weight?" he asks gently.
I think about it for a moment, I think about how just 3 years ago I hated my body so much I'd hit myself over and over again. All that pain has vanished since than though.. at least most of it has. "Sometimes I do.. but for the most part no, not any more," I tilt my head back so I can look into his face. Looking down on me he smiles. The smile stretches after a moment, becoming mischievous.
"So tell me about your fetishes," he pokes.
I laugh and bury my face in his chest. He really doesn't want to know. Not about all the men, all the married men old enough to be my father. I watched his secret unfold just moments ago, as soft as a flower opening, but this wasn't the same. My secrets weren't flowers at all, but bee hives. They rumble and work inside me, promising something sweet but only delivering stings. "I don't really have a fetish, my fetish is learning about other peoples fetish's." I only half lie.
I wonder if he can sense enough truth in that statement not to question it. It is partially true after all, I have a whole collection of fetish's I've experienced through other people. I learned about Vore, erotic weight gain, age play and much, much more from being romantically involved with "Kinksters". Nothing excites me more than finding out someone has a sexual fetish.
His breath tickles my scalp as he nuzzles into my hair, "You can tell me," he pushes.
I laugh nervously. No.. I can't. I don't want to have to explain myself to you, I think, and then have you label me as a home wrecker. Despite all my breakthroughs, I still have bits and pieces of myself I feel the need to hide. No body is allowed to really know me.
After awhile of bantering back and forth about it he gives up and becomes quiet. Our breathing becomes synchronized and he is fast asleep in no time flat. I roll over so his mouth is tucked against the back of my neck and his hands are cradling my breasts. I can't sleep though, my secrets are too busy buzzing around inside of me, causing blisters to form and fester.
I leaf through them, all the men and affairs, like the pages of a picture album. Some of them stick together at times, but they're all here, tucked away safely in my heart. Every now and then I'll pull one out like an old photo and run my fingers across the glossy surface. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I'm married to this one or that one, and it is me holding their children waiting for them to come home.
Sighing deeply, I stretch my legs out flush against his, trying to settle into sleep. I close my eyes and breath evenly, coaxing sleep forward so I can leave all these memories behind. I concentrate on his breath pushing against my neck, and realize its like watching a Polaroid develop. Soon this night will be another picture I look back on later.
Sorrow pinches at my insides. Little No See ums feasting on my skin, causing my eyes to water. Another night slinks into my mind, when No seem ums bit my feet, making me want to get up and run.
The waves are left gurgling on their own when the twangy melody stops, I look over at the homeless man and meet his gaze steadily. I smile, reaching over and petting the big dog curled in the sand at our feet. I can't pull his name to mind, but I know his dogs name is Johnny. I cradle the weimaraners face in my hands, picking a flea off of his long snout. His coat shimmers like moon light, and I can easily see this beast running in a pack, chasing bears and wolves, with a King in the early 19th century. I enjoy being in the company of this animal and it's master, both are silent and thoughtful. I believe the mans name is Jericho, or maybe Josiah. Johnny lifts his head from his paws to regard me with his good eye. I lean forward and kiss his damp nose and am rewarded with a wet kiss of my own. "Johnny cakes doesn't take kindly to people easily, you have a good heart for animals Weaver," Jericho informs me as he fiddles with tuning his guitar.
I'm pretty sure his name is Jericho now, but maybe if I'm lucky I'll hear his name again before he moves on and I never see him again. I smile my reply and peek at him from behind my curtain of tangled hair. I admire his good ear as he twists the knobs and listens to the plucking of his strings. Not many people can tune a guitar by ear, I know I couldn't. His back and arms ripple with hard earned muscles. Not the kind you get in a gym, but the flowing power you gain from toiling away in the sun and surviving outside day in and day out. Every few seconds he pushes the grainy sweat stained bandanna up on his forehead, out of his eyes.
Suddenly he glances up and catches me staring. I quickly shift my gaze to Johnny cakes again, the dog is blissfully basking in my affections, allowing me to pet his tender ears and graceful neck. "How old are you weaver?" he asks, his eyes still on my face.
I shrug, "Old enough I suppose."
I shift my position in the sand, scooting back so I can recline against the near by dune. Johnny follows, flopping down beside me and resting his head on my knee. His milky white, blind eye registers nothing, but the warm amber one is alert. I watch as he scopes out the beach, nose twitching and ears perked to any danger. I briefly consider if he can smell my fear, my resistance to being questioned by his beloved master. "Johnny there will be 7 this year, same age as me in human years." he laughs and strums a little jig on his guitar as he talks. His long fingers pick and tickle the instrument until it sings just as he wants it to.
I smile, he wants me to react to his age, but I don't. I could care less how old he is, I just wish we could sit in silence again. He sets his guitar on what looks to be a hand woven rug beside him and reaches deep into his tattered cargo shorts. Once again my eyes linger over his bare chest and arms too long and he catches me watching. We smile at each other and I cough. Out of his pocket he pulls a glass pipe and his lighter. After a second more of digging, out comes a tiny plastic bag. "You wanna burn?" he asks as he packs his pipe.
"Nah, I don't smoke." I shift uncomfortably in the sand.
He shrugs and lifts the pipe to his sun cracked lips. Before he sets the flame in the bowl he winks at me, I feel my face go hot and I laugh. Once again he has failed to get a rise out of me. I think this impresses him to a degree, my unwillingness to be shocked by things like pot and a 17 year age gap.
The smoke from the pipe slaps me in the face after a moment, mocking me for being so stupid. Did I honestly think anything I do or say could impress this man who has seen everything? He's not smoking grass, I can tell instantly. It's not the heady aroma of weed, but instead a thick, toxic smell. I know that smell.
He tilts his head back, letting the smoke pour out of his nose and mouth like a train. I suddenly feel as if I'm about to throw up. My head feels light and soon I'm having tunnel vision. The black night swoops in on me, tightening around my eyes and threatening to knock me out cold. I shiver violently, despite the warm humid mist draped around my shoulders and bare legs. "Just breath.." I whisper to myself.
But I can't breath.. My wind pipe constricts, only allowing ragged puffs of air into my chest. Faintly I can hear my mother singing some where deep in my mind, "Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea, and frolicked in the autumn mist of a land called Honah Lee..."
I start to hyperventilate, snatching at the salty air in huffs and gulps. Why is this happening? Why can't I just be normal?! I tuck my head between my knees, trying to gain some control, but mostly trying to block out the singing. "Hey, Weaver, are you okay?" I can barely hear him over the sound of my own labored breathing and my mothers voice in my head.
He crawls to me on his hands and knees, putting an arm around me. I can smell the burning packaging tape on his breath, it shoots through me like a bolt of white hot lighting. The memories come in spasms. I can't control them. Fear strikes up in my veins, making my blood pulsate in my temples. Johnny cake whimpers at my feet but his soft, ghostly gray coat brushing against me doesn't comfort me at all.
One second I'm on the beach with Jericho and Johnny, the next I'm in a double wide trailer with my Bubbie, my mother is no where to be found. The smell of burning plastic coats the back of my throat until it feels as if my air ways have been seared shut. I can't breath! Jericho rocks me gently against his chest, stroking my hair. "Weaver, honey.. my sweet dream weaver.. it's okay honey child" I don't want him this close!
I try to draw myself away but my limbs wont unfold. they have been seared shut as well. I'm melted plastic, a ball of sticky substance waiting to be heated up and inhaled. This idea scares me more! I breath faster still, trying to suck me all in before I float away.
Please, don't let me float away! I curl up tighter, trying to make myself as dense as possible. Jericho squeezes my shoulders, rubbing my arms and back. "I'm sorry.." he whispers over and over, I don't hear him though.
I'm still in the double wide trailer, still in the fetal position in bed, still praying somebody notices me soon so I don't just float away. The smell, the toxic aroma of singed hair, is still sizzling like battery acid in my nostrils. I can't take it any more! I want my mother! "His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain, Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane. Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave..."
Her voice is so real, humming the tune lovingly.. I have to be brave! This thought helps me to block out everything else. I push Jericho away and jump to my feet with the last bit of energy I have. I snatch my bag from the folds of the beach and wobble towards the parking lot. "Don't follow me!" I warn, "Just stay here!"
He doesn't even blink as he watches me scramble over the dunes and out of sight. The beach sucks at my ankles like a nursing kitten. I feel as if this place is asking for more than I can give. Johnny cake barks once, his voice ringing loudly in the night. I bid him farewell in my head, not knowing if I'll ever see him again.
I stick my arm down into the chasm that is my cloth bag and fumble with tubes of make up and wads of dollar bills. Finally the tips of my fingers find my cell phone, I yank it out and hold down the power button until it comes alive in my hands. I still feel out of breath, like I've just ran a marathon instead of just running from my past. I flop down on the curb before making my call. I don't want to sound stressed. A cloud of No see ums swarm around me, nipping at my sweaty feet and calves. I swat at the aimlessly, counting backwards in my head from one hundred until my heart is beating normally again.
I dial his number and wait for him to pick up, "Please, please, please" I whisper into the phone as it rings.
I can only hope he's driving today and not home with his wife and children. After the fifth ring his sweet voice fills me up, pushing past all the scar tissue. "Hey My-Randa, what's up?"
His Randa.. I let the phrase warm me. "Nothing much, wanna pick me up from the beach?"
He pauses for a moment, checking his memos to see if he's free. "Sure, see you in 15"
The phone goes blank against my ear and I smile. The double wide trailer is slowly folding up into the back of my mind like one of those pop up picture books. All I have to do is turn the page and the old pictures collapse and something new pops up to take front and center. I marvel at the simple pleasure of it. Now if I could only rip the other pages out all together..
The No see ums are thick tonight, their guts and legs are smeared across the taxi's windshield. A stream of chemicals shoots out and the wipers scrape back and forth but it doesn't help much. "Where are we taking you?" he asks as we pull out of the parking lot and onto the empty street. The little clock on the dash board says it's only ten at night, but there isn't a soul to be seen.
"Any where but here," I laugh, letting my head roll back against the seat.
He smiles and glances over at me, trying to read me. "tough night?" he asks.
I don't bother answering him, instead I poke him with my elbow. He Pokes me back, and soon we're going back and forth, banging into each other with our arms. His laugh rolls around me like a thick Persian rug. I want to wallow in it forever.
Soon we are on the mainland again, and the island with its beaches is just a sparkling dot on the other side of the Lions bridge. I breath deeply, enjoying the feeling of oxygen in my lungs again. His sweet cologne rinses away the nasty taste in my mouth. I yawn, stretching my toes out until they pop. Are arms are laying side by side, his warmth seeping over and filling me up. I hold very still, hoping he wont take his arm away once he realizes how easily and intimately we're touching.
As if reading my mind he lifts his arm away and opens up the glove apartment in front of me. He points to a CD case, "Pop that in for me, I think you'll like it."
I do as I'm told, sulking a little at how quickly our moment passed. I open the CD case and feed it into the player. He reaches over and turns up the volume a tad. Soon a narrators voice fills the car, as we pull to a stop in front of the slave market. "Have you ever heard the old Indian Legend of how the world was made?" He asks. I nod my head, "I read the story in school. About the girl who falls into the ocean and makes Earth on the turtles back." I had liked the story a lot, and even read it from the text book a second time at home.
He smiles and leans his head back against the seat, his eyes closing slowly as the story begins. I like the narrators voice, it's thick and deep like syrup. I close my eyes as well, but instead of the words I focus on the sound of his breathing next to me. In and out, In and out. His arm brushes against mine again, I hold my breath. A shiver shoots up my spine and I sigh. This time his arm doesn't move, it stays pressed against mine for several minutes as the old Legend unfolds for us. Tipsy couples on vacation swoosh past the car, but no body stops for a ride. It's just the two of us. I feel a sense of peace wash over me. For once, I am content.
"So.. what happened tonight at the beach?" He probes.
I sigh in frustration, why? Why can't I just be left alone? "Nothing, I was just hanging out with some friends and then I got bored, so I called you.." I glance over at him to see if he's buying it.
Not a chance. His gaze is hard and I can tell from the look on his face he knows I'm not being honest with him. "Really?" He demands.
I roll my eyes, "What are you, my dad?"
This pisses him off and I instantly regret saying it. I don't want this to turn into a fight, I just want to be here with him. I grope for something to change the conversation, "Did you know the hippies downtown gave me a nick name?"
He raises an eye brow at me but doesn't comment. "Yep" I push forward, determined to make this right again. "They call me Weaver."
I smile at him and wait a few seconds for him to respond. Finally he pokes his front two teeth out to resemble my own and makes a sucking noise. I glare at him. "You mean they call you beaver?" He laughs.
"No, ass!" I growl.
I slap his arm and then turn in my seat so I don't have to look at him mocking me and my teeth. For as long as I can remember I've had an over bite, a pretty bad over bite, and it has always caused me grief. I can feel tears itching at the back of my eyes. He laughs some more but stops when he sees I'm genuinely hurt. "they call me Weaver because I crochet and sell my hats downtown.." I tell him, wanting badly for my voice not to shake like this in front of him.
Fucking ass hole, I think as I swipe a hand over my cheeks. I'm about to just get out of the car and go when he leans towards me and presses his lips to my cheek. His breath is as soft as butterfly wings. My whole body buzzes as his thick beard tickles against my skin. He doesn't voice his apology, but lets his tender touch do all the talking.
I turn to meet his kiss but his lips are already gone. He's back on his side of the car again, turning the key and bringing the Taxi to life.
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