My father taught me strength of character above all other things. He used to grill me on ‘if.’ ‘What would I do if…’ When he was relaxed, and the subject not close to his heart, the answers were flexible. They could be argued, and a debate would ensue on the differences until one of us agreed. It was never a draw. We just weren’t the kind of people who accepted a draw.
However, if the question was asked when he wasn’t calm, or the issue entirely too close to his heart, he would rage if I didn’t somehow know the right answer. These lessons taught me several things:
Watch. Study. Listen - If I observed him, studied his nature, how he responded to other people, I could almost mimic his answers word for word. The answers usually were a little more harsh than I would normally have given, but to save myself the headache (or any other ache) of argument, I would spout back my carefully learned answers when the ‘if’ questions came about.
Think Ahead. - Watch for potential ‘if’ questions, answer them silently in my head until they were perfected. If I thought I still didn’t have the answer…
Seek outside help. - My mother was useless with these kind of things, my sister, equally so. I often went to the store to purchase something for one of them, and the shopkeeper would answer my odd questions with few of his own. I digested his, and hopefully came up with the right answer.
When I didn’t…
Self - Doubt - Beat myself up, repeat whatever he said to me over and over in my head until I could write it verbatim weeks later.
In all of this, it took me ages to unlearn my father’s answers. At some point, I stopped reciting them, and adopted them instead. Perhaps it was rage, driven by being his puppet, that brought out the sadist in me, perhaps it was genetic and as simple as just being his son that did it. He was dominant, I am dominant.
When I lost those two years I found a lot about myself that was wrong. In the time since, I’ve reshaped my thought process to allow some simple things.
Watch. Study. Listen. - The situation. For in doing so, I have a complete picture upon which to base my opinion.
Think Ahead. - Have an idea of the curve balls I face as a person. Know my own triggers, insulate them. Determine what action I’d take now, rather than when the emotion breaks upon me.
Seek Outside help. - Therapy, if I need it. Or better, a good friend who doesn’t mind telling me that I’m an asshole.
Accept that I am allowed to be wrong. - The hardest lesson of all. I force myself to accept that I sometimes fail, but it is always a bitter pill to swallow and I often choke. This lesson I learn anew with each failure.
You might know me if you saw me. I have the face of someone you knew at some point in your life a long time ago. It was a handsome enough face, shy of the model good looks that could have landed me a life of luxury and mindless praise, but hardly hanging on the low branch of the ugly tree. My hair was black, my skin naturally that color that white people everywhere prayed to the sun or bottle to get. I had, what I considered plain gray eyes. Blue would have been more striking, but like the rest of us, I was not given an options menu inside the genetic puddle from which I sprouted.
I could work out a little more, but I didn’t want veins to start sprouting out of my skin. I preferred the anti-steroid look. I still fit into the same pair of jeans I wore in high school, the ones I wore towards the end that compensated for the growth spurt that burst out of me around the 11th grade, and the subsequent adjustment of my height/weight proportion. I was tall, taller than most people, but not so much I stood out. I liked the quiet. I liked the anonymity that being, just plain, gave me.
But plain people didn’t find themselves in the situation I was in.
I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let me give you some history. I was, for all intents, given the best of everything life could afford me. We weren’t rich, but money was never an issue that I knew of. I wasn’t abused growing up, in spite of being a Catholic and my exposure to all those priests. Short of an overly stern father, my parents were normal. My mother doted, worried, wrung her hands with anxiety. My father was silent, never cooked and loved her openly, though he never showed me much of that affection.
I’d always followed my parents advise. I was sort of a nerd growing up, a little fat, too, given my obsession with brownies I learned in the mandatory homeec class. I loved chemistry, became fascinated with the inner workings of the mind after I read an article on bipolar disorder and the chemicals that cause and effect that condition. I moved onto college, excelled at it, lost my virginity and experimented with recreational drugs. They didn’t take, thanks to a rather embarrassing vomiting episode following some pot. In fact, I’d never fallen too far off the path that would lead me to a medical degree, a large house in the ‘burbs and 2.5 kids. Until I met Lily.
*** *** *** *** ***
The doors parted for me easily. I wasn’t hard to identify even given the poor lighting. I looked up and noted that the glass cases around all but one of the street lights had been broken. It cast the entire area in shadow, and that fit with the crowd. I could see them caring for the problem with a gun and good aim. A few extra gunshots in this area of town would never be noticed.
My feet scraped across the entrance way. I was always a little clumsy, it came with my size. My mother used to say that my feet and head were in different area codes. My forehead was forever in danger of striking the frame of any normal door. I was always pleased to find light fixtures, doors and ceiling fans (shudder) pleasantly out of eye-gouging range.
‘You’re a big one.’ The comment was said with a curled lip, by a too-short man in a too-tight outfit of all black.
My father, original inventor of the ‘zing’ had passed along his talent. ‘And you aren’t.’
The man turned and walked away, and I felt a momentary satisfaction with my answer that was immediately subdued by self-disgust. Another friend I’d just made there. My mouth was always just a little quicker than my brain. I held out my arms to my side as they wanded me, followed by an overly intimate hand search of my body. Thank God for female body guards, I’d hate to tackle the mental dilemma of getting a chubby for a dude.
As she came around in front of me, she smiled. She squatted, running her palms along my legs, while I looked down into the tight valley her breasts made, created, no doubt, by some creative undergarment. She laughed softly as her fingers brushed over my cock.
‘Oh damn.’ She mumbled to herself and then glanced up at me to see if I’d heard. I felt heat rise in my face, and looked away. She cleared her throat and stood. ‘He’s clean.’ I felt, rather than saw, her partner move away from me.
I dropped my arms and mumbled my thanks. ‘Pleasure was mine.’ She said, handing me back the wallet I didn’t realize I’d surrendered. I needed to pay better attention.
‘Lily is expecting me.’ I mumbled, waiting for the door to open into the other room.
‘You can’t go without an escort.’ The female guard with the cleavage responded. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll walk you back.’
I waited while she fussed with some papers and signed something on the small table they were calling a desk. She swiped a card and the door swung open. The short man in black was there, along with a few others, but we passed them. I felt their eyes upon me, and resisted the urge to bow my head and stare at my shoes while I walked. Instead, I turned my head to follow the guard.
She had a nice ass, but considering all things, she’d never look at me twice. There was too much about her that screamed ‘Diva!’ in spite of her blue-collar job. I thought that, but even as I did, Lily’s face floated before my eyes and self-doubt turned on me again. Why was I here?
The building was strangely set up. It seemed to be a maze, with long halls, meaningless hallways, and I understood why the guard didn’t allow me to go alone. It would be impossible to find my way around without help. I’d never met her here, and if she hadn’t explained the workings of the security, I’d think I was in the wrong place. This wasn’t the sort of place you’d find someone like her.
She was magnificent. Luminescent.
That image of her from our first meeting still clung to the backs of my eyes. I was picturing her in my mind, and so, when I ran into and nearly over the guard, I starred blankly at her for a long moment until I apologized, clumsily, as I seemed to do everything else. She only smirked in response and stood back from the hand pad, staring at me the entire time. I pressed my palm to the glass and watched as it blackened and lit up with a green flare of light.
I passed, obviously, when the door popped open. The guard left, back down the maze of endless hallways, and I ventured into the room.
Lily. I felt a sort of relief steal over me. She was as beautiful as ever.
‘David.’ My name on her lips sent a shiver running down my back. I didn’t bother trying to hide the reaction. I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth as she came out of the bathroom. I was in a sitting area, decorated with more taste than I could ever summon within myself. I ran my hand over the back of her sofa.
‘So this is your abode.’ I said it with a smile, glancing around and taking silent notes in my head of her preferences.
‘Yes.’ She didn’t say anything else, and I startled when I felt her hand settle on my bare forearm. ‘Like it?’
‘Yes.’ I sucked in my breath and reached out to smooth the sleek black hair, so like my own, away from her face. She turned her face into my palm and my heart beat a little faster. ‘You’re cold.’ I mumbled this under my breath.
‘I’m hungry.’ She pressed her body closer to mine until I could feel the fine movements of her. She kissed my mouth, had to pull herself up my body to do it, but I didn’t mind, my hands cupped her ass, her legs wrapped around mine. When her tongue slid into my mouth I was hard as a rock. I could feel her cool fingers sliding under the layers of clothing I wore, play in the valleys of muscle I’d perfected just a little more for her sake.
I bit her bottom lip. She brought out the animal in me. With her I felt a thousand things at once, protective, jealous, love, anxiety, desire… I could go on, but I was losing a rapid battle between thought and thoughtlessness. I walked us forward with great effort and nearly fell on her when we reached the sofa. I tore the dress she wore, because I just had to get at the smooth, perfect skin.
I broke the kiss and lay panting on her, bowing my head to kiss her throat, the swell where her breast started and finally, the peak. It, too, felt cold in the hot cavern of my mouth. I tugged and she arched her back beautifully.
‘Lily.’ I mumbled.
She squirmed under me. ‘Mmm?’
‘Do you want to eat first?’ I said, taking great satisfaction in the shudder of pleasure my words and actions were causing.
‘God, yes.’ She laughed softly. I pulled back from her and fell back into an open area on the sofa. She climbed into my lap, straddled my thighs. My palms found her under her dress. Her eyes flared with hunger. I slid a finger into her. I was drunk on confidence. Drunk on her fragrance.
‘You sure?’ I groaned, happy to have found one place where her body wasn’t cool, but radiating heat. She kissed the corner of my mouth, her fingers slid into my hair. I felt her fingernails run down the corded muscle in my neck. I ran my thumb over her clit.
She purred softly, then gasped as another finger joined the first. ‘You make me want so many things at once, David.’
‘Where’s the bedroom, Lily?’ My eyes were glazed, heavy-lidded. I could smell her scent. I ground my cock against what parts of her I could reach. I was in exquisite pain. Wanting.
‘Maybe later, David.’ Her grip tightened on my hair, pulling my head away from hers, until I had to look sideways to see her. I blinked, trying to clear the fog of haze, reconcile the discomfort her grip was putting on me. She leaned forward, kissed my throat.
And then I felt the skin at my throat puncture like the skin of a plum. Pain mixed with the haze of lust. I tried to jerk to avoid the sensation, but she held me like I was an infirm. Still it didn’t go together. I felt the rush of sensation to my neck where her lips met my skin.
Pleasure began to saturate me again, my cock lost some of its stature. I shuddered, my eyes rolled back in my head. I could feel the steady pull of her suction, helpless at first to stop it, unwilling moments later as I felt myself drowning in her being. It was where I wanted to be. I was inside her and still my own self, as if the blood she was drawing from me existed to feed and serve us both.
I felt her tongue, watched her draw back and lick her mouth with a mixture of sleepiness and passion. Her hold lessened, but I couldn’t find the will, or even remember why I wanted, to move. I smiled, almost apologetically, before I slid down and my head hit the sofa.
I’m in that mood where I say things that will hurt. I’m in the mood that doesn’t care just how badly they hurt either. I feel the contradiction of my stillness and the tumultuousness that rages just under its surface. I look tired to anyone that might come across me, who don’t know me well enough to identify the mood. It’s the stillness, you see, the quiet stare off into the abyss.
If it breaks upon someone, it is usually with cold, calculated hatred. And it does feel like hate when it hits, because I just don’t want to control it until I’ve actually made you cry, or worse, hurt you so badly that agony stills the rise of tears in your breast. I’m dangerous like this, and its this mood that strengthens my desire for a woman that doesn’t make my words her new internal voice.
Strength that allows you to lift your head and look at me when you know I’m disappointed in you. The strength that allows you to stand when you know I’ll only put you on your knees again. The strength that looks back at me through the streaks of salty tears, and the blood at the corner of your mouth.
Strength.
My own keeps me silent when everything inside me is raging.