Two
It’s getting cold, Marcus said to himself through the cacophony of screaming emotions in his own head. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly cared about noticing the change in temperature that happens every year, but at least it was a thought that wasn’t centered on the recent chaos in his life.
He was sitting on a metal folding chair in the first row of many of the same type with his wife, Angie, to his right. She silently reached for his right hand, and after noticing her gesture; he looked at her face and found her warming smile impossible to resist. He returned it with a genuine smile of his own and refocused his attention on the man speaking over a well decorated casket that looked poised to be dropped into a waiting above ground concrete grave.
Seeing these graveyards from the freeway or on some disingenuous tourist tour could never give this moment the justice it deserved. How his friend managed to own such a burial plot right in the heart of possibly the oldest section of New Orleans was a question that Marcus would have to hold in queue for a time when he had the resources at his disposal to answer.
For the moment, there was an abundance of seemingly unanswerable questions swimming around him and his crew, and each held the very real threat of dismissal, or worse.
“He, who has gone,”
It was the deep baritone voice of the speaker that pulled him from his introspection. Marcus did not recognize him and he had more of a businessman’s attire than that of a member of the clergy. He was tall with a husky frame cloaked in a full length dress coat to ward off the creeping morning cold that always felt worse when added to the high humidity of the region.
“So we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent,”
He continued and Marcus began to drift back inward towards his own troubling thoughts. He had personally scoured the Weathers’ bedroom for the weapon that killed Mo, but like previous attempts from both his crew and the BRPD Crime Lab; he found nothing.
Timothy Weathers was stunned and then monitored every nanosecond after the shooting, and his person has been searched and probed to the point that further investigation would require an autopsy, should an unfortunate event befall him, of course. Questioning Weathers quickly became just as fruitless of a venture because he spends any conscious time he has screaming and writhing in agony at some unknown ailment localized, seemingly, in his head; if his mad screams and the slamming of his head into his gurney are to be clues. Their federal office, being in a state capital, had access to an on-staff psychologist who was quickly able to determine that the pain, at least in Weathers’ perception, was quite real and not being faked.
They had him safely sedated at their holding facility back in Baton Rouge, but he would need to be moved today to an emergency facility or they risked losing him all together. Marcus would not abide such a failure and planned to oversee his transport personally this very same afternoon. Hopefully by then his forensics team would have more luck deciphering the video taken by the digital cameras attached to all of their gear. Everyone had a video feed depicting the exact same scene; Timothy Weathers clinging to his wife, then a brief video distortion followed by the sound of a gunshot. Despite his closeness to the situation, James Bruce offered to personally diagnose and maybe even fix the video distortion problem.
Marcus suddenly felt frightened and uneasy at his mind’s mention of James Bruce.
“NAY!”
He almost suppressed a slight involuntary jump as the speaker moved forward with his Saint-Exupéry quote; almost.
“More present than the living man.”
How in the hell do I know the source of that quote? This is why I’m going to lose my mind at an early age!
“What’s wrong, Cap?” The question came from his left and was laced with more genuine concern than teasing, and thankfully the question broke his derogatory self examination.
“Nothing, this guy is passionate about his eulogy, isn’t he?” Marcus replied to Isa Gonzales using a small gesture with his head towards the burial site.
“Yeah, he creeps me the hell out.” She answered without a hint of the tears that had shown themselves the previous morning. Isa appeared to have grieved as much as she was going to allow herself, but her eyes still bore the burden of almost no sleep within the last twenty-four hours.
Marcus had recruited two on duty female National Guard members to watch over and, more importantly, protect Monica Weathers so Isa could go rest in her own bed for the night. The sallow look on her face suggested that she likely found herself in some downtown bar until it closed instead.
Why is this happening so soon? Marcus could not wrap his mind around how fast this process had occurred. He and Mo had shared a pitcher of beer just two nights ago and now Mo was being placed in the ground. Thankfully, his order to autopsy their fallen comrade as soon as he arrived at the morgue was carried out without any problems, but then an unknown family member, who happened to be the executor of Mo’s estate, expedited the burial process and skipped having a public wake all together.
This brought his looping thoughts full circle back to the exclusive burial plot and a new visitor to the funeral. There were twelve chairs sitting in two rows of six covered in green fabric that were closer to the casket than the rest of the audience. Usually reserved for immediate family, they were all empty until just recently. She was dressed in a long, black, fully sleeved dress with a black veil shading her blond hair and likely her face. Marcus could only see her back because of how the audience was arranged.
Marcus reached up to his coat lapel as subtly as he could and clicked his com twice while reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small device and aimed its laser sight into the mystery guest’s back. When he heard the appropriate com acknowledgements, he put the device back where he found it and acted like he was stupidly searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” His wife asked him.
“He thinks our mysterious family member has just shown herself.” Isa answered for him, barely audibly. Marcus looked towards Isa and said, “I don’t have to tell you not to lose her, do I?” They all learned long ago not to whisper. Whispers carry further than regular speech spoken low.
“Sure, more babysitting is exactly how I wanted to spend my morning!” Isa complained and slipped off into the standing crowd without a sound.
The speaker continued his eulogy, completely unaware of any activity.
“God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled.”
*****
“I got ya, sexy!” He said over their encrypted channel.
Justin Markel was lying prone on the abandoned top floor of a Canal Street hotel staring into the scope of his fifty caliber ex-wife. Isa Gonzales was two blocks away and just separated herself from the monochrome clad crowd enough for him to recognize her flashing infrared transponder. It was a crude, but effective method of identifying allies if you happened to be a sniper. The infrared LED flashing on their persons was invisible to the human eye, but once filtered through the optics in his scope every team member had a specific color. Today Isa was green.
She was skillfully snaking her way to a better vantage point by not moving quickly, but also being forgettable enough to the crowd to keep multiple people from tracking her with their heads and eyes. Something that would surely be noticed by anyone caring to, and by now everyone was assuming that someone was trying to notice.
She exited the crowd of mourners behind an ancient and decaying brick wall that was hidden by another ancient edifice that likely held the remains of some wealthy pre civil war landowner and his family. It was tall enough to obscure her from anyone seated near the coffin so she pulled her small lithe form onto the wall and sat on her haunches.
“Alright, I see you and the mark. Stand by there for a few seconds more.” He said over the com.
“Stop looking up my skirt, you asshole! I’m going to start charging you for the fucking pleasure!” Isa was certainly too disciplined to move once she was in position, though.
“What? Well, I’m insulted now. I would never do such a thing!” Justin said as he zoomed his optics to see if he could actually catch a glimpse of what lay beyond the small black skirt she was wearing. Not that she possessed anything he hadn’t seen. She treated their ready rooms and lockers like she was male anyway.
Isa was unmistakably gorgeous and despite her tomboy attitude, she dressed and carried herself like a full on sorority trust fund princess. Today she was dressed in a designer dress skirt that would have been considered too short and tight for any professional environment. It was black and she wore black stockings beneath it that bore the results of her climb up the jagged brick wall.
She had on a low cut, tight fitting black top that exposed her muscular arms and shoulders. Her signature silver chain hung between her dark breasts and her black hair was now pulled high and tightly secured with something she must have been carrying. Her high heels appeared to be long gone.
“Bullshit, you’re staring at me right now. Don’t feel bad sweetheart, everyone stares.”
Between what she accused him of and his meeting with the Bruce succubus yesterday, Justin felt the distinct need to supplement his life with a member of the fairer, skirt wearing gender, and he needed it soon.
Isa had her own small optical unit trained on the burial site and said, “Okay, I’ve got a good look at the mark. I’m transmitting the images back home now.” With that, she jumped back down and skittered around the wall, out of his sight.
“Be careful”, he said. “I can’t see you anymore.”
“Don’t worry, dad.” Justin didn’t know why her statement made him feel so cold and alone, but it did.
*****
Brian Meaux was now being attended by his six pallbearers as they lifted his casket for the mortuary workers. Once clear, the two assistants removed the metal retaining rods from beneath him and the pallbearers slowly lowered the metal casket into place within the above ground crypt. All six well dressed gentlemen knew Mo well, but were not part of his unit. Mo’s unit was working today and his funeral was their office.
Rest well my friend, Marcus thought to himself. We will find out why this had to happen.
One redeeming quality of the bright mid-morning sun was that it allowed Marcus to wear dark sunglasses that proved their value by cloaking his failed attempts to deny the forming tears in his eyes. As he panned his vision back over the mysterious blond newcomer, he realized that something was happening.
He heard the very unique sound of an open palm impacting exposed skin. It was loud and it sounded hard.
“Don’t touch me you pervert!”
The female scream wasn’t quite as blood curdling as it probably could have been, but it sounded genuine nonetheless. Then he felt a hard thump in his left side and realized that his wife was trying to get his attention. Once he looked at her face, she directed her eyes across the small burial area to an event that seemed to rouse every butterfly that his stomach had ever known.
“Look asshole, I told you to back the fuck off!” His only female crew member had gone and done something unexpected. The poor soul that Isa had just slapped the shit out of was just a member of the mortuary crew and unfortunately lacked any previous knowledge of whatever her plan currently was.
His abashed and confused state would have been humorous in just about any other context, but he just looked in bewildered horror as the instigator of the scene bent down to pick up her black heels, of which one looked to be minus the heel. She had taken off her shirt completely and ripped one of the straps off of her black lacy bra so it was swinging as she cantered and swayed towards them.
Her eye makeup streaked irregular black lines down her cheeks, and her raven hair was matted and actually had at least two small twigs tangled into it. Her skirt was turned inside out and ripped on her left leg from the bottom to the waistband. She had apparently ditched the black stockings she was wearing as well.
With a vice-like grip, she held in her right hand a half filled bottle of dark liquor that was emptying quickly with each frequent trip to her mouth. Her left hand held both her balance and now useless black heels. Marcus was certain that he would be receiving a sizable reimbursement request as her plan became obvious to him. Playing along, he waited until she had stammered a little closer and exclaimed; “Ma’am, what are you doing?”
“Shut up prick!” She screamed. “Hey, where the fuck is Randy?”
She took another long draw from her bottle and screamed loud enough to wake the currently gathered dead, “RANDY…”. “Randy! Where are you, you fucking little faggot!” Her futile screams for Randy seemed to entertain her because she broke out into a small giggling fit as she looked around at everyone staring at her.
“He’s probably riding some cock he found in a corner, that boy don’t love him no women”, she managed to squeak out between laughing fits. But, once she saw herself as the only one entertained she continued; “what, who died and anointed you people the Army of the Boring?”
“Oh, I guess he did.” She said pointing to the now lowered casket, and doubled herself over in another fit of laughter, dropping her shoes in the process.
“Young lady”, an exasperated older woman in the audience began. “This is a funeral! Show some respect and take your whoring back to the quarter where it belongs!”
Marcus felt a wave of anxiety washing away as he realized that people were, unfortunately, buying Isa’s bit of drama – especially her apparent mark. Isa was slowly staggering closer and closer to Mo’s burial site and Marcus felt the need to act was at hand.
“Get her out of here!” He commanded with his right hand pointed towards nowhere in particular. He trusted Angie completely, but he desperately hoped she could maintain a poker face through the drama being played out before them.
“Fuck you, dude! This is a free country, last I checked. I can walk anywhere I want to! Besides I need my queer friend to drive me home – oh, hey there sexy!” Her tirade tapered off as she grabbed the mark and kissed her deeply enough that Marcus saw Isa’s tongue finding purchase within the blond woman’s cheeks. The exact idea of what just happened was slow to dawn on her, but she managed to shove Isa away after only a few seconds. The shocked expression her face housed looked to be genuine enough, though.
Isa managed the word, “tease” before a dark clad figure initiated a perfect form tackle and they both landed hard with an audible “umph”. Germ turned onto her stomach and bound her hands behind her with a plastic tie.
Once he had her lifted back up and standing awkwardly, she asked “hey, can we stop where there’s a bathroom? I think I need to pee!” Germ pushed her through the hushed crowd quickly and Marcus just stood in open awe at the spectacle of it all.
*****
“Well, is she transmitting?” Isa asked from her seat in the back of their mobile response van. The side door was open and Marcus was standing outside with his arms crossed.
“Yes, but that’s beside the point”, he began. “You should have told us what you were going to do! It was reckless and stupid!”
“Your surprise was part of my plan, that; I might add, worked flawlessly!”
“Crashing Mo’s funeral was your plan? Are you going to strip naked and jackhammer him out of his grave for an encore?” Marcus realized his emotions were creeping into his admonishment, but he had little power to slow them at this point.
“I’m going back to Baton Rouge and moving Weathers to an emergency room before the sack of shit dies, and I’ll make sure his wife is under appropriate guard until tomorrow. Go home and don’t let me see you again until you’ve slept for a whole night!”
He knew he shouldn’t be yelling at her this way, but he also knew she wouldn’t take time off unless she really thought he was disappointed.
“Whatever, I need to kiss something with a dick anyway!” She took a drink of her bottled water then leaned over and spat onto the gravel near his feet.
She actually looked defeated enough to possibly even follow his orders, or to at least follow them on her own terms. “‘Scuse me, Cap. I’ve got a call to make.” Marcus rolled his eyes and slammed the door of the van as she pulled a small plastic card from the case holding her phone.
*****
The morning light was beginning to pour into the bedroom. She had hoped for just a small amount of extra respite but realized that it would not be coming. Not now that she was already awake and aware of her surroundings.
She smiled as she sat up in the large and extremely comfortable bed. If Isa was ever asked to describe the bed that God Himself slept on, she would have a hard time not referencing this memory as a starting point. She knew that the mattress had to be made from modern memory foam material, but the linens were brilliant white and felt as though the cotton was weaved in heaven. Isa could not remember a time when she fell asleep as exhausted and woke so completely refreshed after only a few hours.
There was a small wooden table situated near the edge of the bed she woke up on. It reminded her of the type of furniture she would use as a kid to eat dinner and also watch television in the living room of her parent’s home. On its top she saw a simple but very elegant wooden serving tray that held a cup of hot coffee, a glass of orange juice and a small assortment of fruits.
She tossed the white down comforter off and dropped her feet onto the wooden floor of the bedroom. The wood looked to be some sort of aged treated cypress, but she didn’t really know for sure. It was cool under her feet, but not cold enough for the Isa sized house slippers someone had left for her to find. She was on the verge of thinking it was a nice gesture before reasoning out how her host could have known to have them in the first place. He probably has a few sizes of them stored away somewhere, she thought to herself. Not too many though, and new. I doubt this man would give me some other one-nighter’s nasty slippers to use.
That would also explain what she found in his bathroom cabinet when she snuck off for a quick shower after he had fallen asleep. Isa was simply hoping for any soap that she could use without breaking out her skin, but what she found was almost unbelievable. After opening one of his bathroom cabinets, she noticed a smaller pink door built into it that housed an array of new and unused women’s toiletries. Isa decided to accept it as him being prepared. She suffered no illusions that he ever wanted for overnight female guests and used the premium branded luxuries with zeal.
When she looked at the serving tray a little closer she saw that there was a small cup of cream and a few packets of sugar. There were also two of each different type of artificial sweeter she knew existed and even a couple she didn’t. Never one to be accused of being a coffee connoisseur and the fact that she was feeling dehydrated prompted her to grab the orange juice instead. As she began to greedily drink she noticed a small note near the coffee dish that read simply:
“Breakfast is on its way -J”
After draining her glass, she grabbed a strawberry then stood and stretched as a small yawn escaped her lips. Smiling at just how wonderful she was feeling, she popped the small fruit into her mouth and took a couple of steps to the transparent wall that overlooked the city. She was completely naked save for the small silver crucifix that hung directly above the point where her breasts met, but she didn’t care. In fact, standing next to the glass without inhibition was such a thorough turn on for her that she hoped he would be ready for round two very soon. He would be ready, Isa never really accepted no as an option for much.
While running her finger on the glass wall, she padded her bare feet to the edge of the massive bed and stopped. She bit on the edge of her bottom lip and looked around the room for signs of her host. She had already found the bathroom in the master suite and right that instant the door was closed with the sounds of showering from within. She panned the room a little more and noticed another open door with a large desk visible within. Her investigative background got the better of her and she padded her small hairless frame towards the office in still silence. He won’t care. Who leaves an office door open if he’s hiding something? Besides, I have the cure for any grumpiness he might try to use. Isa noticed her right index finger had found its way to lightly caress the smooth mound of exposed flesh resting between her thighs without her noticing. She guessed she would probably like to get caught snooping around his study if it came to that.
When she reached the office’s door she paused and instinctively looked inside for a couple of seconds before chiding herself; stop being a cop, Bella. Walking into the study revealed that its interior size was disguised well within the overall architecture of the apartment. It was about half the size of the large master bedroom, but unlike the bare wooden walls in the bedroom, this room had a few sparse wall hangings. Concealed lighting sconces dimly illuminated some of the larger images as she crossed the threshold of the room and she couldn’t hold back a small involuntary gasp as she recognized the face in one of the pictures.
The black and white image was undeniably sexy and not overly burlesque, the type of image that most people would find arousing even if they refused to admit as much. The model was lying on what appeared to be a bed with white linens. She was facing the ceiling and her neck was bent backwards so the top of her head could support her weight as she arched her back upwards. There were long black helices of hair resting in the shadow under her arching back and her arms were spread away from the hips because her elbows were helping her head extend her bare breasts into the air. Her hips and feet were firmly on the bed with her legs closed and knees raised. Her posture allowed the viewer to see a manicured line of short hair ending as the top of her thighs touched where they connected with her pelvis.
As Isa’s eyes made their way to the model’s face and the source of her surprise, she couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration. Isa had unwanted intimate knowledge of how Monica Weathers was currently wearing her forty one years and wasn’t really impressed, but in this image Cuba couldn’t be any older than twenty. Her arched waist was thin and toned without a hint of the scarred and stretched results of bringing their little brainy creature into the world. The picture’s breasts were still small and tight while holding small but erect light brown nipples. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was set slightly open in a look of perpetual ecstasy. At only twenty-five, Isa felt as though she had already missed the opportunity to capture her youthful beauty as Monica Weathers had and felt a tingling sensation of pure green envy because of it.
The image had done its job by starting the observer off with a feeling of sexuality then slowly transitioning into a feeling of beauty and immortality. Isa estimated to herself that it was about three feet wide and around two feet or so high and it shared a section of the office’s northern wall with another similar image. She noticed that they were both illuminated by their own hidden light sources as she stepped to her right to admire the second image, and by this point Isa had to admit to herself that she was indeed admiring how these models captured their uninhibited beauty with a great degree of awe.
The second image was also black and white, but unlike the first, it was completely squared at about three feet by three feet. Isa didn’t recognize the tiny model, but continued to digest the image anyway. She was sitting on an old patchwork quilt that showed a small amount of grass around it before ending with the picture’s outer dimensions. She was using her arms and hands as support and her head was thrown backwards to allow the sun to completely illuminate her face and very small breasts. Her legs were open and her knees bent. She wore her pubic area completely hairless and her right foot was arranged so that the heel obscured line of sight to anything lower than the gentle crease that began her maidenform. Isa could tell by the small wrinkles near her eyes that she was older when she took the picture than Cuba was when she took hers, but that didn’t in any way subtract from her beauty.
Perched on the eastern wall of the office was the third and last image that automatically illuminated when she walked in. It shared the space with no other pictures and was easily one third the size of the wall. Isa made out two separate and distinct hidden light sources illuminating the giant image. It too was black and white and housed a single individual. She looked to be about a year old and was smiling through only gums at some unknown toddler delight. Isa could see the irises and strong jaw line of her host but the sharp facial angles and almond shaped eyes of her captive.
She suddenly snapped back into reality!
Holy shit! I’m way too deep into this! What the fuck am I thinking?
She turned to walk out of the office and stopped short as she passed the wooden desk again. She was suddenly shocked by the lack of a visible computer terminal. Surely this technology addicted billionaire had a computer in his personal study, but the only thing she saw on the desk was a notepad open to a page with some mathematics scribbled on it. She sat in the oversized leather chair and tried to decipher it, but when she reached characters like a capital Sigma and arrows pointing to infinity, she decided to stop the futility altogether. The desk had a few pieces of memorabilia on it and hung on the wall directly above the desk was a shadow box frame holding a small circuit board with no components soldered to it. She was puzzling out why it would be there when she suddenly smelled a waft of air that almost caused her arousal to peak right there on the very expensive feeling leather.
“That one was a catastrophic failure”, a dark male voice said to her from the doorway.
She looked to the left and saw her host leaning slightly on the door frame. He was silhouetted by the light of the rising sun and he must have noticed her squinting because he stepped quickly into the room and out of the direct sunlight. Aside from a small black towel thrown over his left shoulder he was completely naked and appeared only aroused enough for his manhood to be elongated, but not fully erect. Of where he stored his forty-four winters, Isa had no real idea. The only indication of his wisdom was held in the beginnings of salt and pepper in his hair and the laugh lines in the corners of sockets housing his jade green eyes. Unlike most American men born of his generation, he had managed to escape infancy without some random hack deciding to mutilate the most intimate part of his anatomy.
Isa’s cultural rearing was a mixed bag. She was born into a traditional Spanish-American household and lived that way long enough to have distant memories predating her immediate family’s move away from her larger family in Texas to the ass end of nowhere, Louisiana – by themselves. Growing up with her brothers, mother and father in a small rural home meant seeing each other in nothing but skin more times than a modest person will likely find comfortable.
She had seen men and boys naked as a child and on into adulthood. So imagine Isa’s surprise when upon excitedly pulling down her first set of boxer shorts – she found a cut and not-even-fully-repaired deformity of a permanently retracted penis. The disturbing trend continued for years and she started feeling slightly depressed because sex didn’t feel to her what was advertised by everyone else. That was until she met and allowed herself to be taken by a man, like James, whose manhood escaped the blade. The contrast was palpable. He felt like a man was inside her, whereas circumcised men all felt like varying sizes of heated cucumbers. It was something she could never understand. Why would parents decide for their infant sons that they don’t need a functioning natural penis?
James Bruce certainly retained his natural function and she couldn’t help but feel the primal attraction of wanting more… It was the feeling she absolutely had to dispel from her primary thoughts if she wished to have an actual human conversation with him. After a monumental battle within her own will she forced all of her primal instincts aside and spoke a very weak and quiet; “what?”
“That board”, he said “it never worked. I had to completely redesign it and actually lost a lot of money for the company I worked for at the time.”
“Oh”, she had completely forgotten about what he had walked in and saw her looking at. “Why do you have it framed on the wall then?”
“Well, for a few reasons I guess.” He walked toward her while still looking at the framed piece of his history. “It was the very first time I had actually sold a design and had to have circuit boards printed. It was a small run of only ten units, but in my excitement I left out a couple of key traces that simply could not be added after the fact. Fortunately my boss at the time knew the potential of the controllers and the market they may capture and just let it go as a learning experience. He’s actually retired to Caribbean somewhere now; he always did seem to make great decisions.”
He had made it to the desk by this time and his tall frame placed his gently swaying manhood at almost the same level as her face because she was still sitting in the chair.
“It’s both my first success and my first failure”, he continued. “Since then I’ve never had to re-print circuit boards and I keep it there to remind me to slow down and keep things simple.” After he finished what looked like a brief pleasant memory, he looked down at her and immediately knelt down to put his face in line with hers.
“I forget myself sometimes and become extremely rude. Good morning beautiful, how did you sleep?” He held her gaze and smiled in a way she hadn’t seen before.
Gone was the canted grin he used to get her here and in its place was a tooth baring ear to ear smile that could only be genuine because of how cheesy it was. If Isa wasn’t fighting her own internal battle of keeping herself from falling to the floor and cramming all of his still pliable cock into her mouth, she may have actually laughed at how silly he looked.
That would be too easy, she thought. I want to talk him as hard as I can. Thankfully for her sense of sport, that was a feat that proved harder than she thought. He had decades of sexual experience on her and seemed to intuit exactly the game she had silently initiated. His overzealous smile transformed almost instantly to his signature sideways grin and she knew the game was established. As with all games involving exposed genitalia, there were no rules. The first person to lose control and begin devouring their partner, or themselves; lost, but in that respect they both would really win.
With the anticipation of what was to come ringing through her mind she pointed to the nude models on the wall and asked; “did those two on the wall get that smile?”
“Of course they did”, he was looking at the pictures without the increase in blood flow she was hoping for. “Those are the only ones that I honestly believe had some form of love for me, in their own ways of course.”
That’s when the realization hit her. Wow, what a dumb ass Mexican! She thought. That’s his second wife that left only a year after their marriage. Isa had done the standard research on James Bruce before this standard snatch OP had turned into a maelstrom of confusing emotion and disappearing murder weapons.
She must have been noticeably drifting a bit away from the game because he asked; “you okay?”
Breaking away from her current thought, she noticed that he had stood back up to his full height and her gaze, of course, ran down towards his midsection. Prodded by millions of years worth of evolutionary chemicals now electrifying her brain, she stood and purred into his ear; “oh, it’s you that I’m worried about.” She gave a very noticeable and voluntary glance of her eyes towards the middle of his body.
He offered an overt laugh and said; “don’t worry about me, beautiful. Do you find the pictures offensive or degrading?” He was baiting a trap, but Isa was no fool and would not walk into a logical trap that had no teeth in the first place.
She thought about her response as she slowly walked back towards the images then answered honestly, “there’s no reason for any woman to be offended by these pictures. These women aren’t professional models; they’re just everyday people who were able to capture their essence for eternity. Anyone who thinks this is a degrading act is just stupid.”
She turned back to him slowly, allowing him to absorb her full form. She could see his eyes dancing up and down her body and knew that if she could actually feel their touch she would be on him within milliseconds. “I have to ask though, why do you keep nude pictures of your ex wives in a place of honor in your study?”
“I’ll let you answer that one on your own”, he said. “You’ve been close enough to Monica to understand what damage her narcissistic god complex has done to her personality right?”
His response was blunt and direct, but not a syllable of what he said was any different than what she had already gathered about Monica Weathers from the way she acted.
“If you removed the already pre-biased feelings you had for her during her arrest, it’s likely that you would never become friends. In fact, I would wager that you would indeed grow to hate her pretty quickly.” He continued speaking, but his eyes were now transfixed on places other than hers, and she could see increased activity in the only real spot she wanted activity increased.
“Okay, given that you likely walked into my home last night with a distinct hate for a certain woman with Cuban heritage; how do you feel about her now?” His answer made so much sense that she actually smiled at the simplicity of it all.
“So keeping a picture of her displayed that shows her in her highest and most beautiful form keeps you from hating her, I can understand and get behind an idea like that.”
“Yes, because hate is a terrible emotion. Not because it leads people to do mean things, or because I have any desire or longing for her. But, most importantly of all; it leads me to do dumb things. Emotions are by nature uncontrollable and are as human as breathing. We can’t excuse them and call ourselves mentally stable so we must learn what triggers us and try to contain our reactions to negative circumstances. I had to learn that the opposite of love is not hate; the opposite of love is apathy. I simply don’t have it in me to be completely apathetic to someone I would have once died for. I’m just not wired that way.”
After he finished talking he decided it was time for him to lose the game and allowed his erection to stiffen as he walked towards her.
It had to be the strangest sexual experience of her young life. She was naked and staring at a nude image of her lover’s former lover and could nearly feel the moisture of her midsection slowly collecting and wanting to drip free. She had never found women sexually attractive at all. Even through her years of training when every one of her male classmates insisted she was lesbian. She never gave the pigs the pleasure of knowing for sure by fucking one of them, though, and she just found solace in a myriad of devices always kept close to her bunks.
This was different. She was entranced by the image in the same way she enjoyed watching erotic movies. She wanted to be the girl lying there. She loved seeing the short trimmed hairs above her pussy and wanted desperately to travel back the twenty two years since this picture was taken so she could gently grab Cuba’s knees and push them apart. She just wanted to see the marvel that was surely there. She wanted to see it because she knew he had been there enjoying its bittersweet teenage taste hundreds of times.
In her mind she would open Cuba’s legs and lie down inside of them on her back using her beautifully shaved lips as her pillow. Feeling them against the bare skin of her neck would cause her to ripple with excitement, but then Cuba would be gone and it would be her taking the pictures while staring up at her young lover holding the camera. She would be expecting that at any moment he would lose control of himself and bury his face between her teenage knees then taste the orgasm as he forced it out of her.
An arc of electricity shot up her body and opening her eyes was the only thing that made her realize that she had them closed in the first place. She looked down expecting to find his hand buried into her and saw that it was her own hand that was now fiercely at work rubbing on the right side of her swollen clit. She was standing straight up with her knees wanting to wrap themselves around her now divine right hand. Her left hand had a firm grip on her right breast as she thought; why doesn’t this shit feel as good when I’m home alone? He walked up grabbed her from behind and when he pressed his erection against the small of her back she felt the lightning dance up from her abdomen and screamed aloud as she coaxed out one of the best orgasms of her young life.
Taking this as his queue, he lifted her small frame with ease and turned her around. After he set her down, he stole her gaze and forcefully removed her right hand that was still slowly circling an index finger around her labia. Isa could no longer take the torture. She grabbed his shoulders and climbed her way up his form as though it were the base of a tall oak tree. Once she was at eye level with him, she wrapped her left arm around his neck then reached down to place the tip of his love on the edge of hers. When she could feel a small measure of penetration she reached back up with both arms around his neck and kissed him deeply as she slid herself down onto pure bliss.
Losing wasn’t so bad, she thought.