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It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of inducing pleasure in another. With the exception of my writing of course, but that pales in comparison. I miss the feeling of someones hand in my hair. Hearing the quick breathes and subtle gasps, the moans, the pleading for a little more. The writhing and wriggling and beyond all else the capitulation to a sensational crescendo. -J.L.

Chapter 24 – Rot In Whatever Hell You Believe In

The tow truck was at your house first thing in the morning. A burly grisly looking fellow who looked like he was part black bear knocked on the door to tell me he had arrived and was ready to take me to my car. It was a strange goodbye. There was a tension in the air that was inescapable. Though we didn’t communicate it verbally it was clear that we had made some deeper connection than just the simple savage sex would have implied. You looked at me with a knowing look telling me what I needed to hear without uttering a word. “Talk to you soon.” I whispered into your ear as I hug you goodbye. “Drive safer this time.” you whisper back before kissing me on each cheek and sighing contentedly. I take a step back, pick up my suitcase, wink, and turn to walk out the door.

“You from the coast?” the big man grumbled. His sentence sounding like it was constructed from gravel instead of words.

“Sorry?” I asked, surprised that he had started a conversation in the first place.

“I suppose you must be.” he continued, irreverent to any answer I had or had not given. “Only someone from the coast would drive in this weather with that get up.” He snorted to himself proud of his put down.

He was right of course, it was foolhardy to be driving with no winter gear in the middle of an area famed for sudden and inhospitable storms. It is what some people call fate, or others may call Gods will, and even scientists ring in calling it chaos theory. If I hadn’t been ill prepared I wouldn’t have had to take shelter in your house. If I hadn’t taken the car instead of the plane I wouldn’t have even been in this storm. If it wasn’t for my grandfather passing I would have been at work pouring over something altogether useless in the spectrum of my life. All these moments culminated with my meeting you.

Would my life gone on had those moments not come to pass? Of course it would have. The lack of knowing you would not have affected me in the least. If I took the plane to the funeral I would have never crashed and never met you. My life would certainly continue unabated along whatever path I chose. But in this moment as I sat in silence next to this awkwardly shaped and slightly smelly tow truck driver I found myself attaching greater meaning to all these inane superficial connections. I knew that it didn’t make meeting you any more important or pivotal and yet I couldn’t help myself.

The tow truck slid around a corner with a small fishtail swoop and the gruff man snorted again as I grabbed for the door handle to steady myself. He was likely under the impression I was fearful of his driving and felt superior once more for being the bigger cro-magnon man. In truth I simply did not feel like sliding down the bench seat and colliding with his now distinctly odorous mass. It’s possible outside of work he was a classy gentleman and took his wife out to a nice Friday night dinner once a week, but at the moment he was a large hulking sweaty mass and I desperately wanted to crack the window open if only for one final breath of fresh air.

“How much further?” I asked, more for the smell than the driving.

“Round about five minutes or so dependin’ on tha deer.” He clicked and sucked at his teeth before coughing and spitting out the window. Friday night dinners with the wife seemed much less likely with every minute that passed.

“Ah I see.” I managed to reply as we slid around another bend in the road. In the distance I could make out the distinct tower of a grain elevator. The tiny hamlet would be coming into view shortly. These sorts of towns always mystified me. There never seemed to be a reason why they existed and yet there they were. What made the people of this area congregate and decide that they needed to construct a town at this spot was a matter of mystery. From the outsiders perspective there was nothing here of value except perhaps the gas station and the grain elevator.

Not surprisingly, however, as we reached the two block long section of downtown there were two competing churches directly across from each other. One protestant and the other catholic no doubt. It was difficult to tell from the outside. They both were very stalwart, solid and churchy. I smirked to myself. This town had more churches than grocery stores. I suppose the residents enjoyed being able to choose which version of the religion did a better job of making them feel bad about themselves.

The truck took one final turn into the gas station lot where he parked in front of the service bay that was attached. “You’ll have to pay Geraldine at the counter.” He said stiffly, out if habit making the assumption I knew who Geraldine was.

“Thanks.” I replied and sauntered off to the entrance while he remained in his tow truck. After entering the small front office I immediately saw Geraldine behind the counter. She was a cute woman and looked to be close to the same age as you. Geraldine, however, had taken to putting makeup on at a young age and it seemed never got passed the introductory phase of makeup technique. Less is more was a concept completely foreign to her as she looked like she was plucked from the mid-80’s with her big hair and overly blushed cheek bones.

“You the guy with the car?” She asked, smacking on her gum loudly.

The question was vague but I suppose I was the guy with the car. “That’s me.” I stated dryly with a subtle nod of acknowledgement as I a swerved her.

“You took a dip in the ditch huh?” She continued, flipping through a receipt book as she talked. “Out by the old Petkau place.”

It was still strange to hear your last name. I only found out what it was about an hour before this. I suppose we were content with first names. They are, after all, more familiar. “I suppose so yes.” I answered.

“So you met Ay then.” She said still flipping through the book before stopping and looking up at me.

I paused for a moment before nodding. I suppose to her you were Ay as you were Al to Celine and Alcina to me.

“That’s good. She needed a man to come visit.” Geraldine muttered. “She’s been cooped up in that place since her parents died and she came back from Spain or something.”

“Paris.” I corrected though a little surprised you hadn’t told me about your arrival back home. I suppose we had run out of time and had decided to enjoy it instead of reliving bad memories. I was just as guilty of not revealing unpleasant moments passed.

“Ya that.” Geraldine agreed. “Shitty way to find out your parents croaked.” She continued “come back from a trip and spend the night at the airport waiting for them to pick you up. Getting mad and shit like all pissed because they forgot about you. Meanwhile they’d been pried out of their car while you were all la-dee-dah in the plane and shit.” She scrunched up her face and scowled. “Ya that’s a shitty as fuck way to find out you’ve got no mom and dad anymore. Oh finally!” She exclaimed after finding the receipt for your repairs and tow. “Justin you dumbass you put this shit in the wrong fucking place.” Justin, if course was nowhere to be found and her irritation did not fall on deaf ears but no ears at all.

I stood for a moment contemplating what I had just found out. Geraldine, though crass and unsophisticated, was right. That was a horrible way to find out your parents had passed away. I felt like I should take my car and immediately drive back to comfort you. This was a silly idea though. In your mind you had already dealt with the loss. You had moved on as best as you could and pity was the least of your needs at the moment.

Geraldine passed the paper to me and I looked it over verifying the math quickly before signing it and handing her my credit card. All things considered it was a minor bill. I was quite lucky. “Thanks.” Geraldine said to me taking the paper away and passing me a copy. She then picked up the keys from the empty pegboard rack behind her before tossing them to me. “Cars round front.” She said with a smile. “Drive safe now ok?”

I thanked her and walked out of the building.y car was off to the right and was already covered in a thin veil of snow. I pressed on the remote and it rumbled to life shaking a small amount of snow off. I grabbed my suitcase and tossed it into the trunk before getting into the chilly vehicle. After a few moments I had keyed in my final destination to the GPS unit and started off.

For the first time in a long while I felt the nagging itchy feeling of loneliness creep into my mind. Despite the very short amount of time I had spent with you I felt that I was already missing your presence. I suppose the loneliness we feel as individuals is never as great as the day we lose a connection to someone we care about.

The irony of this was realization wasn’t lost on me, after all I was heading to a funeral. I didn’t feel that I had lost a connection when my grandfather passed. What I hadn’t admitted to anyone, is that I felt little to nothing at all. He was just…there, like an object I knew existed but had no attachment to. I could have been told that I needed to replace the taillight on my car and it would have evoked more of an emotional response. It wasn’t always like this though. It took a lot of time and effort to come to this cold detached state. I was grateful for it. The years I spent with him after my dad passed away were the worst. He was charged with my care and it seemed he was completely incapable of anything resembling caring. A vile, beastly, cruel man in private I suffered through his radical mood swings and violent outbursts. He was dead to me a long time before he died. Now I just had to go through the motions of burying him.

I knew I was expected to do the eulogy and I definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. I wasn’t concerned about speaking in front of everyone. I’ve never really understood that fear. I was more concerned with trying to come up with enough nice things to say. At least there was the road ahead of me. I had time to talk it out to myself. I had still a long ways to travel and many things to settle in my mind. I hoped that in that time I could recall enough positive moments that the eulogy would be adequate. As much as I loathed the man, his family need not remember him the way I remember him.

“His family.” I mused to myself. I had removed myself to such a degree that I did not even recognize them as my own. He was my mom’s dad, so he was blood and I suppose that blood makes him family despite my feelings. So really, I hadn’t seen my family in years. I hadn’t felt the need to. Family are the people you’re stuck with. The crazy people on the liferaft. You’ve got to stick with them, and they stick with you. Not because they agree with you, but because they’re programed to. There is no choice involved. It makes me wonder though, love without choice, is it really love at all?

When my mom died my dad took care of me. He looked after me and did the best he could to make sure I grew up strong and proud like him. When he passed I was still a young teenager. Cancer ripped him out of my life before I realized he was slipping away. I was left on my own. It was decided by someone, a will I suppose, that I was to be cared for by my mothers parents, only one of which was still on this earth. So at thirteen I was the orphaned and sent to live with my despot grandfather. He made sure I knew what he felt about that.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he used to say whenever the mood struck him, and it did strike often. “You’re nobody. You’re nothing. You hear me?!” he’d yell. “The best part of you died with your mother, and now all I’ve got is the shit that’s left behind.”

Grandfather was the ‘spare the rod spoil the child’ type with the chilling bonus of not caring whether or not the child had done anything to provoke the rod. He kept a collection of leather belts he was fond of, most left over from his time in the army, and all but two that actually still fit him. He was fond of how they looked, their polished shiny exteriors, black, slick, and hard. The way they smelt. The way the leather felt in his hand. He liked the sound they made when he pulled the belt tight. The noise they made when they were stretched taught. He hung them in his room outside of the closet and next to the door. He’d stare at them as he went to sleep and stroke them as he left his room.

Often he’d carry one with him around the house. It didn’t serve any other purpose other than to comfort him. The belt he had on was less than impressive. It could barely contain the gut that had developed. He was far from the slim and trim hard ass that he used to be before he mustered out. I’d see him set it on his lap with care as if it was some beloved pet, stroking it and holding it as he watched hours of mindless TV and smoked several packs an evening. He was never awake in the morning. Instead he preferred to wander around the house with his belt in one hand and a large glass of miscellaneous booze in the other.

When he was feeling particularly frisky he would bound up the stairs like a rolling barrel of thunder then burst through my door yelling some unintelligible nonsense. If I didn’t respond correctly, which happened nearly every time, he would take whichever favorite belt he had in his hand, and beat me with it. His favorite spot was the small of my back. His second favorite was my stomach. “That’s why I have no money you dumb fuck look at you!” he would bellow. “You’re a big fatty.” he’d say, poking my stomach with a long fat finger. Before I could react the belt was whipping around and smashing into my stomach with surprising speed. If I curled up to protect myself he would simply aim for my back instead. “You and your big smack fat smack mouth smack You’re eating me out smack of house smack and fucking smack home! smack smack smack” You tell yourself when you’re in that situation that you’re going to be tough. You can take it. You’re meaner and stronger than him. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But inevitably the tears come, then you plead for him to stop. The only thing that saves you is him getting tired, thirsty, or craving yet another cigarette. The hardest part to deal with was that there was no reason to any of it. If I was doing something to cause him to be upset, perhaps I could avoid that trigger, but it just wasn’t the case. I shook my head as I drove and became aware of my own tears. Dead and gone and he still managed to make me weep.

The truth was he blamed my dad for my mother’s suicide. His pain was tempered only by my grandmother, and when she passed he got even worse. We stopped visiting at that point. He and my dad would just end up in big arguments over me; where we should live, where I should go to school, what sports I should focus on. My grandfather was always bringing my dead mother into the argument by saying it’s what she wanted. My dad would counter with “He’s my son, I know what’s best for him.” It always escalated. It always got louder and it nearly always resulted in us leaving for home the next day. My grandmother was fond of saying how much I looked like my dad. I think that didn’t help the situation either. I even could recall one time while being worked over by a belt my grandfather yelling, “I will beat the lousy shit out of you.” At the time I had understood it to be that he was trying to beat me into being a better person. But as I think back on it, he was really saying he wanted to beat my father out of me.

“How am I going to write this eulogy?” I muttered to myself, watching the sunlight dim on the horizon in my rearview mirror. “Ladies and gentlemen thank you for coming today. We’re here to celebrate the life of horrible man that I’m happy is dead. He destroyed what was left of my childhood and took what family I had away from me. I despise him. I loathe him. I do not pity or accept him for what he did. I have no forgiveness in my heart, because he had beaten that out of me. Here in this casket lies a lousy piece of shit. May he rot in whatever hell you believe in. Thank you.”

I’m sure that would go over well.

Hello my Lovers….

I’m Running Behind

 

My apologies to everyone that’s anxiously awaiting another titillating story from the  maniacal mind of yours truly. It’s been a very busy last few weeks and I’ve had trouble keeping pace with both my real life regular job, the side jobs I’ve taken on, and my writing. Since currently two out of those three allow me to pay my bills, the third, my writing, has been delayed.

 

That isn’t to say I haven’t done any writing, it’s just that I haven’t completed any story in time for posting this morning.

 

Somehow I managed to start three separate short stories that ran with different characters, concepts, and situations. Setting up the scene in each of these stories took some time, and for some odd reason I did it not once, but thrice, failing to complete a single one.

Do not fret though, I have picked which one I will be posting and it will be coming later today….just…not….right now.

Fans waiting for the next Julian Lisette short story.

 

So what am I supposed to do now?

(you ask with frustration)

Well, in the meantime I’d recommend you read through some of my earlier postings. Perhaps the first few chapters in my “From A to Z” novel in progress.

Or perhaps you can draw your own inspiration from my Tumblr blog posts.

Tumblr – goes well with anything

 

But if you really want me to adore you…

 

…..you could take a trip over to Amazon and support me by purchasing my first ever published short story “A Lunchtime Affair”. It’s cheaper than a coffee and every purchase goes directly to supporting my ego, which is always in need of constant support. 😉

-show me your love

 

 

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

 

Alright, that’s it for now. I’ll see you in a few hours with a new deliciously dirty story filled with sinfully succulent and utterly scintillating passion filled sex.

Cheers,

Julian

 

 

Truth #13

What is the one most embarrassing thing you have ever done?

The most embarrassing thing I’ve done seems to be a moving target. There have been moments in my life where something embarrassing has happened and I thought to myself, “This is the worst thing ever. I’ll never live this down.” only to be proven incorrect as time passes and everyone moves on. A majority of these “unforgivable” gaffs were in the awkward teenage years. But as I look back now I find them more a source of hilarity then a sore spot of skin crawling embarrassment.

One of the most embarrassing things that ever happened to me was when I was 10 years old. I had a birthday party at a hotel. I lived in a small town at the time so the hotel had an indoor pool complete with a slide, and a nearby restaurant within the hotel itself. At 10 years old, there’s nothing else you need from a hotel. I had invited most of my hockey team friends and the birthday party was a lot of fun. When it came time to leave we went to the hotel lobby and my mom settled the bill with the staff. As she was standing there I tugged on her shirt, she looked at me, and I told her I had to go to the bathroom and I’d be right back. She smiled and said, “Ok honey.” and I wandered off to the washroom.

After I completed my task I wandered back to the lobby to find it completely empty. “Odd” I thought to myself, but I rationalized that they must be waiting in the van for me, so I walked out into the parking lot. The van wasn’t where we had parked though. My heart started to beat faster and I started glancing around the parking lot quickly, running from one side to the other, checking around the corners for the van. “Maybe she moved it?” I thought to myself. “Maybe they’re playing a joke on me?” but after searching the parking lot and walking around the entire hotel and not finding the van a full out panic set in.

I ran back into the lobby and I don’t recall if I was crying or not but I do remember being upset. My mom had left me behind on my birthday. She had loaded up all of my friends into the van and drove away, leaving me with strangers in the lobby. I asked for the phone at the lobby but this was back when cell phones weren’t the norm. I called my house, and of course there was no answer. I called my best friend’s house, no answer. I called the business that my parents ran, someone else answered, my dad was off on an errand. I was alone. The receptionist started to ask questions that I don’t recall now. Probably simple things like what’s my name, where do I live, what’s my mom’s name etc. I only recall being upset. My panic had changed to fury. I was so incredibly mad and embarrassed.

The van eventually showed up at the front and my mom hopped out, nonchalantly walked up and said “Ah there you are.” as if the incident was my fault. I was so embarrassed to get into the van with my friends, all of whom knew now that my mom could so easily forget her son and leave.

But in that moment of embarrassment I was more of a victim of someone else’s error…

I supposed then there are two moments in my life that could be considered to be the most embarrassing. Both involve alcohol and were the catalyst to my non-drinking ways.

Chapter 15 – What Kind of Name is Zale?

With the horses returned to the barn, the saddles on their hooks, and every other piece of tack in it’s place we made our way back to the house.

“This isn’t fair.” you state dryly. “You’ve kept me talking about myself and yet you’re the stranger in my home.”

It was a valid point. The intriguing backstory of your life had completely enveloped my mind and I had not thought about myself at all. It was a relief though. The long drive through the rural roads crisscrossing these sparsely populated prairies was a purposeful choice to give me more time to think. To contemplate my next move in life. But after three hours of spiteful introspection, over analyzing every mistake, every miscue, every missed opportunity, I had become wrapped up in a depressive state. I wholly detested the feeling. It is an incredible waste of energy to feel sorry for oneself.

“Well,” I finally reply, “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me something…..” you pause for a moment then stop walking. Looking right at me, deep into my eyes, “…..tell me something about you that normally you’d never say.” A confused expression crosses my face so you explain. “Tell me something about yourself that you’re scared to reveal.” Your serene dispassionate stare slowly morphs into a sly grin, then an all out smile. You seem to revel in making me squirm. Honesty. Brutal, bold, unabashed honesty. Is there anything more frightening to reveal to someone you’re just getting to know?

I look back at you, my brow furrowed and I begin to unconsciously bite my lip. “Hmmmm” is all I manage to reply. Not sure what to say yet. There are a number of things I fear to reveal, but I find myself trying to choose among them the least scary, but still frightening enough to convince you I’m keeping my end of the bargain. There’s nothing more irritating than asking a person what’s the craziest thing they’ve done, only to hear them reveal some petty paudry truth like stealing a candy from the bulk box at a grocery store.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

“That either means you’ve got a lot of secrets, or the few you have are pretty damaging.” you assess, as would a detective.

“It’s just….I….well….”

“….you don’t want to embarrass yourself?”

“That’s part of it.”

“You’re afraid I’ll look at you differently? That I will no longer be interested in you?”

It’s true. That is exactly what I’m worried about. But in your query you have just revealed to me one snippet of truth that I was seeking. You could only become disinterested in me if you were at first interested. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…..I like you Alcina.” I admit sheepishly. “I think you’re a very interesting, intelligent, and beautiful woman.”

“But you barely know me.” you reply, playing the role of devil’s advocate.

“True. But what I do know, and what I sense, is promising.”

“So tell me then, Zale, if you find me interesting, intelligent, and attractive, why is your first reaction to keep secrets from me?” You’re turning the screws on me now and the smirk on your face tells me you’re finding it quite amusing.

“Honestly I’m not sure. It’s instinctual.” I answer without thinking.

“Your instincts tell you to keep secrets? That seems a tad bizarre don’t you think?”

“Maybe? It feels like self preservation. I do like you and I part of my brain wants to only show you what is good about me.”

“But how do you know what is good? What if what you think is good, I actually detest?”

“I guess I just….assume?”

“You can stop that right now then. I’m not the naive girl that I was. Every decent person has dark moments in their life. Every honest person has moments of dishonesty. I accept that. I don’t judge it.” you smile again, disarming me once more. “Come on, let’s get back inside and warm up. You can tell me all your dirty dark secrets while we eat dinner.” You laugh to yourself and continue up the path. I walk behind you, unsure of what’s to come.

Like any man I am the combination of the way I was raised, the events of my youth, the influence of my friends, and the personality I was born with. My demeanor has been carefully crafted over time. It has been molded to suit what society expects of me. I am the master of the hearty handshake. I am gifted with the glib tongue of petty conversation. The welcoming smile. The master of small talk. All tools I use to fit in, to be accepted. That is how I got my job. That is how I got my wife. And that is why I got divorced. Perhaps this was the moment for a change. The moment in which for the first time I can be truly honest with someone. Full, unabashed, unwavering honesty. My word how that scares me.

“I’m going to have a shower.” you tell me once we’re inside. “Take a look inside the kitchen and see what you’d like to make for dinner.”

“Alright.” is all I manage to reply before you’ve sauntered down the hall and into the bathroom. Moments later I hear the water gushing from the tap, the switching to the distinctive and soothing white noise of a warm shower. “I wish I could join you.” I mutter to myself. “That’s a truth I’m scared to admit.” I then shake my head at my own words, trying to clear my mind before heading to the kitchen and looking what was available for dinner.

Fifteen minutes or so later I hear the door to the bathroom creek open followed by your distinctively light, feminine foot falls trailing off as you walk down the hall. I sigh to myself once more. How lucky Celine was to share a shower with you. My momentary jealousy quickly replaced with a smile as I draw up a image in my mind of what that would look like. For a few minutes I entertain the thought, allowing my imagination to fill in the gaps and create a small sensuous scene. Letting the small imaginary movie progress in my mind, I continue to collect ingredients for dinner. Once I’m done I’ve collected some potatoes, a couple of chicken breasts, some broccoli, tomatoes, and onions. Laying out the ingredients on the counter I stop for a moment to consider what I’m going to construct. At that moment, however I hear you come up behind me, “Your turn for the shower. I think I left you at least a little hot water.” you chuckle and then nod your head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Alright. I’ll be right back to help with dinner.”

“Sounds good.” you reply nonchalantly looking me over as I walk away. I’m still a relative mystery to you and you can feel yourself getting excited at the prospect of discovering what hidden secrets lurk beneath my calm exterior.

I stop in the living room to pick up my suitcase, taking it with me into the bathroom. I feel unkempt and in need of a shave as well as a shower. Being able to wear my own clothes instead of your father’s would be a welcomed change as well. While in the shower I feel my mind racing. As much as I would like to simply relax and enjoy the therapeutic effects of a hot shower, I am instead fixated on what to reveal to you. The motions of washing begin feel foreign. I feel the absurdness of standing in this strangers shower and the excited anticipation of meeting someone on a blind date simultaneously.

As the temperature of the shower begins to alter from soothing heat to undesirably tepid I realize it’s time to dry off and face you. I quickly run the fluffy towel over my dripping body enjoying the refreshing feeling of the air cooling my skin. After I’ve dried off enough I rummage through my suitcase and pull out a nice pair of jeans, a belt, and a t-shirt that, though tight, fits just well enough to show off the strong shoulders I was lucky enough to be blessed with. Setting the clothes to the side I retrieve my straight razor and go through the practiced motions of a close shave.

A long time ago I abandoned the multi blade disposable razors that fill most drugstores. There was a sense of danger with a straight razor. Your hand had to be steady. Your movement slow and precise. Dragged across the skin properly, there was no closer shave. Dragged across the skin improperly, and you may need stitches. Shaving, that male-centric act, was so very meditative in it’s process. After thoroughly cleaning your body you must examined yourself in a mirror, planning the course of action. Preparing your face for the task, preparing your mind for the day. Shaving was self improvement at it’s most basic level. Discarding the unwanted pieces of yourself to display the truer honed visage of your innerself.

With the last swipe of the razor I looked back into the mirror at my refined reflection. Checking for any missing stray hairs or knicks. Satisfied with my performance I reach into my suitcase again, retrieve a small bottle of aftershave and lightly rub it into my skin. The initial sting of it’s application giving way to a cool icy feeling. Now that I’m cleaned up, I swiftly slip into a pair of underwear, then my jeans. Finally sliding the t-shirt over my head I adjust my hair and close up the suitcase. I smile at myself in the mirror. I’m not an overly conceited man, but there are those times when you see your reflection, or yourself in a picture, and you know that in that moment you look as good as you possibly can. It makes your stride longer and your back straighter. Something I’ve relished in the time since my badly timed divorce.

The door to the bathroom opens with a prolonged creek that gives away the age of the house. I can hear you moving about in the kitchen and before I can take a step from the bathroom to the hallway I hear you shout, “All done?” Instead of answering I stride into the kitchen with a cocky confidence. You turn from the stove and smile, your eyes looking me over from head to toe as you smirk. “Well don’t you clean up nicely.” you say with a laugh, turning back to the stove and tending to dinner.

Without a second thought I walk up behind you and put my hand on your back. You jump slightly at my touch but do not shift away. Small shivers course up your spine and it feels as if your hair must be standing on end. You can feel a flutter in your stomach that comes with the familiar anxiousness of anticipation. “How about I handle that.” I suggest my voice soothing and yet commanding in your ear. You turn to me and smile our faces much closer than they’ve been since I crashed through your door. I’m no longer the weekend zombie I was. Instead you see the pride and strength eminating through my gaze. Without a word you slip away from my touch and away from the stove watching as I expertly tend to the pan fried chicken breast and smirking to yourself. It has been a very long time since a man was at that stove. The last one was likely your brother before he moved out. It was a nice change of pace and to have such an adept handsome man in your brothers place. Well now, how could you complain.

I continue to cook the rest of the meal as you fetch dishes, cutlery and glasses to set the table with. Such a bizarre feeling this is. It has the air of being a date but its not. It has the familiarity of a relationship but it can’t be. You feel there is a closeness between us already. An unseen magnetism pulling us together. Something you hadn’t felt since you first met Celine.

As you adjusted the spacing of the cutlery absentmindedly I walked into the dining room with the completed meal. There was something about a man that can cook that really got to you. It was confusing as to why. You didn’t need a man to cook, after all. You could do it yourself if you wanted. But seeing a man in the kitchen working the ingredients like a master painter with brush and oils, it struck a chord with you. “Smells fantastic” you praise immediately.

“Wait until you taste it. Then you’ll really be impressed. ” comes my chuckling reply. Granted it sounds a little boastful, but I knew it would be delicious.

You simply smile and shake your head. I motion you to take your seat at the table and you comply still smiling. “So you asked me before,” I start “about the sort of secrets I keep and why I would keep them.”

“Yes?”

I stand with my hands on the back of my chair, leaning over and smirking at you I say “well some things are better left as a mystery” you groan but laugh as well.

“You certainly are mysterious Mr Zale.” You reply. “Even your name is unusual. What sort of name is Zale?”

“What sort of a name is Alcina?”

“It was my great grandmas name. Who are you named for?

“I’m named for no one. Zale is my chosen name.”

“Chosen? You mean you used to have a different name?”

“Yes.”

“Ooooh now that’s interesting. Why did you change it. Clearly it wasn’t for religious reasons.” You chuckle to yourself as your brain simultaneously races to figure out what would possess a man to change his name.

“No. Not really. I changed it because my given name didn’t suit me.” I tell you with raw sincerity that scares me. “Geez, that sounded vane.” I groan.

“I see.” You reply. Caught again in the web of confusion and unsure how to proceed. “But of all names….you chose…..Zale?”

I nod as a reply. “It’s from a story my father used to tell me. It seemed far more appropriate than the name they gave me, which was, in the end a name I truly despised.”

You furrow your brow in continued confusion. “Let’s drop it for now but I want to hear that story eventually.” Your eyes twinkle as you smirk at me disarming my defensive posture. “Let’s eat this delicious meal while its still warm.”

I nod in wholehearted agreement still in disbelief of my partial revelation. I had never told anyone why I had needed to change my name. Not even my ex wife. Yet here you were and without very much provocation or interrogation and without the use of waterboarding or truth serum I had simply relaxed enough to begin to share one of my darkest secrets. To open the door a crack and allow you to glimpse the skeletons behind. How confusing. How exhilarating.

Chapter 13 – Lost and Found

“Is that it?” you ask, turning in your saddle while pointing to the ditch. From my view I can’t see what you’re pointing at. I try to follow the line of your arm and see a small convex hump of snow in the otherwise concave shaped ditch.

“I….well….I think so?” I laugh at the ridiculousness. When I left the car I felt sure that the crash was quite tame, as far as crashes into a remote ditch in the dead of winter could be. As we come closer to the bump of snow it is apparent that it is at least a vehicle. The only piece of car that’s visible is the antenna popping out as a periscope above the rest of the drifted snow. “Wow did it really snow that much since I arrived?”

“No….actually no it didn’t.” you state dryly, “Looks like the snow drifted a little bit, but mostly you wedged yourself really deep inside. Come on, let’s be quick about this, it’s getting cold for Thunder and Lightning.” with the grace and perfection of years of practice you easily hope off Lightning and stand waiting for me. Swinging my leg over the side I lay my belly across the saddle and slowly ease myself down in an embarrassingly slow manner. If I was to be seeing this from your perspective no doubt it would be amusing. Eventually my toes made contact with the ground and I released the saddle. Thunder snorted and shook his back as if pleased to be rid of me. Standing up straight and fixing my pants I turn to you and see you desperately holding in a laugh. “that,” you say with mock tenderness, “was impressive.”

I shake my head and laugh at myself, “Shut up smart ass, lets go and see if there’s any car left there.” I finally have the opportunity to take the lead as you take the reins of both horses while walking behind me. The snow goes from a shallow three inches where the drift meets the shoulder, but one foot further and it drops to two feet deep. This I find out quickly as after my third step towards the antenna the snow is as deep as my legs. Turning to you I shrug and continue on, looking more like I’m swimming through the pillowy whiteness than stepping through it. After a few more slugging steps I reached the edge of my car and begin to dig it out with my hands. Five minutes later I’ve exposed the side of the vehicle confirming it’s definitely my car. I turn to you and give the thumbs up sign. You smile and nod but point to your wrist to indicate time is becoming short. Following the edge of the car around to the back I expose the trunk. Fishing through my pockets I find my keys and open the trunk to retrieve my single suitcase. After I retrieve it I slam the trunk closed and turn back to you, following my path back up to the side of the road. “Well,” I say momentarily out of breath from pushing through all the snow, “on the positive side, no one is going to steal it.”

You laugh at me and then motioned me over, “Come on, we’ve got to get going, they’re getting cold.” I watch you expertly mount Lightning and then I jump onto Thunder. I feel the process went smoother this time, but from the look on your face that judgement may have been misinformed clearly holding back another chuckle or two. “We’ve got to ride them a little quicker this time, we’re losing the light and the temperature is dipping.”

“Oh….ok” is all I can respond with. Quicker always looked so easy in the old spaghetti westerns I had grown up watching. The actors looked so smooth as their horses galloped below them. I hear you click your tongue and Lightning quickens her pace from a slow walk to a trot. Thunder soon follows without my encouragement. It’s in that moment I realize that a trot is far less comfortable than a walk, finding myself bouncing up and down uncontrollably with each pace of the large beast’s steps. “Jesus.” I happen to exclaim without thinking.

You turn in your saddle and then show me what I’m doing wrong. “No, you don’t want to just sit there.” you say directly, “feel how he’s moving below you?” I nod “Now instead of just sitting there, try to stand every second beat.” you show me by over emphasizing the sitting and standing motions. Taking your directions to heart I repeat the motion, bounce for one beat, up for the next. Down, bump, up, down, bump, up, down, bump, up. “Exactly!” you shout excitedly, “Keep doing that.”

“So” down, “Then” bump, “What else” up, “Happened” down, “in Par” bump, “Paris?” up…I manage to blurt out as I follow the rhythm of Thunder below me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The day seemed to come too quickly as you woke in the morning in Celine’s bedroom. The sun was beaming through the frost covered window creating wonderful patterns of shadow and light much like the charcoal drawings that adorned Celine’s walls. You slowly opened your eyes and enjoyed the heat of a sunray that happened to fall across your eyeline. Without thinking you tightened your arms together and squeezed Celine in a bear like hug. “Shit” Celine yawned abruptly, “are you trying to kill me Al?” turning to face you while still within your hold. In your dazed state you nearly forget that you are both naked, that is until the unfamiliar but very pleasant feeling of her nipples hard against your own breasts re-acquainted you with your current state of dress. Celine, with sleep heavy on her eyelids smiles at you and then gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek, “Good morning my love. Shall we get up yet or should we sleep in longer?” The promise of further rest seems quite desirable but you are acutely aware of how little time you have this visit.

“No.” you respond curtly to Celine, “No I don’t want to waste my days in bed.” Celine raises her eyebrow and you adjust your statement, “Though this is quite nice to be honest.” and squeezing Celine once more in your arms.

“It’s ok, I know what you meant. We’re by ourselves right now though.” Celine explains

“Oh?” you reply, “where’s Leon?”

“He’s probably still on his jog.”

“Jog?”

“Something he took up after his assistant lover Jeanne left.”

“Assistant lover?”

“Well she was both now wasn’t she?” Celine chuckled. “An awkward arrangement for sure. It could be a problem if you photograph women 90% of the time, and your lover is the one getting them coffee.”

“Oh, that is awkward.” you wince sitting up in bed and watching Celine slowly get dressed while holding the duvet modestly over your own nakedness.

“Well it seemed to work fine I think. Both of them had a good understanding you know?” Celine stops for a moment to slip on an oversized sweatshirt. “She was comfortable with him working with the models because she was always there when the models were here. She always knew what was going on.”

“So what made her leave then? If there was such a good understanding how did it fall apart?”

“It was the Michelle situation.” Celine admitted morosely. “Those stupid cops and their stupid insinuations.” she shook her head with disdain, then slipped on a pair of underwear from the recycled chest of drawers.

“What do you mean?” you inquired further, curious as to how the situation played out.

“Well, you see they didn’t really have any evidence to speak of. All they had was the one picture and that wasn’t enough to prove that Leon had done something wrong. Though he had taken a picture of a naked minor, she wasn’t in any overtly sexual pose or confirmed to be in a situation where she had been forced to do something she didn’t want to do. He was in hot water, but a decent lawyer would have had no problem in getting the charges dismissed. They were trying to push to get Jeanne to give evidence saying that Leon was taking advantage of Michelle.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to squeak out. Now sitting cross legged you were leaning forward, intent on every word of Celine’s story.

“So even though Michelle told them that nothing happened, and that she was laughing in the picture, they heard none of it. They kept on Jeanne. Pushed and pushed her. Kept trying to get her to say Leon was a bad guy. That Leon was always touching and taking advantage of his models. They even said how the models were better looking then Jeanne and how that Leon was a man, how could he not want them more than her.”

“Wow.”

“I know!? How mean of them to say this? They kept on and on. This detective kept calling Jeanne at all hours. He would say that he had evidence of Leon being with other girls. Saying he was cheating on her all the time. How she was stupid and incompetent and that she let Leon get away with all of this. He’d call and say how it was her fault this all happened and that she needed to make it right by God.” Celine rolled her eyes and pointed to the sky in exasperation.

“So she left?”

“Of course she left. What else could she do? It broke Leon’s heart you see?” Celine shook her head while rummaging through her drawers again. She picked up another sweater and held it up to herself before tossing it to you. “Here, try this.” she said gently.

“Oh I have my own clothes Celine.” you replied politely.

“Yes I know, but you’d look cute in this.” she winked and you found yourself blushing as you looked the sweater over.

“Why not,” you thought and slipped the sweater over your head, and as you did asked, “So does she talk to Leon still?”

“At first they talked a little but it was hard.” Celine said, rummaging through her drawers before picking out a skirt and tossing it to you. Without arguing you slipped it on under the covers, you modesty more of a habit than out of concern for being exposed. “You of all people know how hard distance can be.” and you nodded in understanding. “At first it works, you can talk everyday. You can take some satisfaction in hearing their voice. You can think of their face, their smell, their touch, but memory starts to fade, and you get busy.” You nod again, thinking to yourself trying to keep in contact with Celine, Leon, and Michelle. At first it was easy but after the first month of university it became strained and difficult to keep up.

“Ya, it definitely gets hard….” you trail off in thought, realizing that you were in for the same painful process when you left for home in a few weeks.

“Yes so they didn’t talk as much and he began to get…oh what is it..” she paused for a moment staring at the ceiling for the word that escaped her briefly, “snippy?” you nod in approval and she continues. “Snippy yes this is it. He was snippy.” she says, a look on her face that indicated her annoyance with the memory. “He began to yell more, get frustrated more easily, he was a mess….and you know me.” Celine shrugged and you knew at once what she meant.

There was a reason that you had never met Celine’s parents. Her father was a brute and an alcoholic. Celine spent her formative years doing what no daughter should have to, taking care of her mom’s wounds. When her mom was too broken up to take another blow, Celine would deliberately provoke her father so as to make herself a target instead of her mom. It was a noble act, but it gave her a few marks of her own. When she was 16yrs old Celine arranged for her mom and her to get out of the house and take refuge with her friend from school. It was difficult for her to admit to her situation, but after years of having to explain away the bruises and missed classes Celine was thankful to accept his help. When the day came to take her mom away, however, she couldn’t get her mom to leave the house. Celine tried everything she could think of to coax her away, but her mom wouldn’t budge. In the end her mom stayed with her father and the two disowned her. She spent the next year with her friend and his parents before moving out on her own. It was this upbringing that developed the strong sense of self that you were so enamored by. It was this upbringing that did not allow for any abuse to be laid her way. So when Leon became snippy, you could only imagine Celine’s response, but it was certain that she would not remain quiet.

“I told him he was being an ass.” Celine laughed, slipping on a pair of combat boots. She looked adorable. You felt jealous of her lack of concern for appearances. She stood with her oversized sweatshirt, a pair of panties, and combat boots on and all you could think about how you could never have the guts to wear something so outlandish. “What?” Celine asked abruptly catching you staring. “You like?” she giggles bending over and putting her hand to her lips as if to mime “Ooops”.

The sweatshirt raised up and exposed her cute behind and you shook your head laughing. “Oh Celine you’re a riot.” Celine straightened up and raised her hands as if celebrating, again the sweatshirt exposed her panties and you continued to laugh. Slipping off the bed you found your suitcase and bent over to open it and pull out a pair of underwear. You were all for trying new things and new outfits, but you were not at the stage yet that you felt comfortable being free as a bird down below. As you bent to pick out a pair of panties Celine quickly came up behind you and slapped your exposed ass, “Ah!” you shouted in surprise more than in pain. The smack was louder than the sting would have suggested, “Celine!” you stood up quickly, your eyes wide and you attempted to maintain a straight face. You wagged your finger at her and bent over again to find your underwear. The moment you did, smack, another wild spank from Celine. This time you did not stand, you deepened your resolve to find the underwear you were searching for. Another spank, and another, “God damn it Celine you’re going to knock me over!” you laugh surprised at how the silly spanking was making other parts of your body buzz. Finally finding the pair of panties you were seeking you quickly stepped into them and stood abruptly. “I should tell you, Celine, you’re being an ass.” you chuckle and then rub your rear end briefly trying to ease the slight discomfort.

“Yes, I’m being an ass.” she replies, “but yours is better.”

“I…..well….I don’t know what to say about that.” you retort honestly.

“Well it’s true. Anyways let us get some breakfast. J’ai faim.” With that Celine turned and led you down the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen.

Once you reached the kitchen Celine found a note attached to the fridge.

“Je suis en courant. Prenez le petit déjeuner. Je vous verrai plus tard.”

“See. He’s running and will be back later. We’re on our own for breakfast.” Celine said waving the note at you. “Pain, confiture, café et son bien?” automatically switching to french.

“Jam and bread sounds just right.” you reply in english, a smile on your face.

Celine retrieved the appropriate tools for a small breakfast, pulling out a couple of plates, a couple of knives, some bread and a selection of jams. In between trips to the fridge she turned on the coffee machine and set it up to brew a few cups worth. She continued her story as if never interrupted, “After I told him he was being an ass, things changed.”

You stopped spreading raspberry jam on your bread for a moment to look up, “How so?” you ask then looked back to your bread and resumed the task at hand.

“See he forgot.” Celine said before taking a bite of her bread and nodding her head back and forth as if to say, “Not bad, not bad.”

“He forgot what?”

“He forgot that he wasn’t the only one that lost someone.” Celine said with a more reserved voice. “I….I lost Michelle, and he neglected to remember that.”

“Oh shit…he probably felt like an ass after that didn’t he.”

“He did.” Celine nodded in agreement, “Of course he loved Jeanne too, but he forgot about me and that’s why he felt so bad. You see,” Celine continued to explain, “because of her age, I was barred from contacting Michelle until either her parents said it was ok, or she was eighteen and could make her own judgements as an adult.” Celine stopped, and sighed. “You think her parents were going to let me talk to her? Of course not. The stupid people thought I made her leave them. They thought I tricked her into running away. They thought it was all my fault.” she shook her head in anger and frustration. “Fucking people! Don’t they know anything?” she yelled abruptly, startling you slightly. “Kid’s don’t run away from a perfect life, they run away from a shitty life!” she threw her bread down to her plate in disgust.

“So….” you begin softly, “….so why did she runway then?”

“Oh Al, it’s not good.” Celine shook her head, “I don’t know if she would want me to tell you.” in the corner of her eye a tear was beginning to develop, but before it could be released Celine wiped her eyes as if to scratch an itch. “But when they say, you can’t contact someone….they mean….anything. You know? Nothing! I couldn’t call, I couldn’t text, I couldn’t message, or even send a letter. If they found out I drove by and waved at her through the window I could go to jail. It was that bad.” Celine blinked and turned her head to grab the coffee, rubbing her eyes again as she turned so that you didn’t see her tears.

“You know what though Celine?” you say cooly and with a mischevious grin.

“What?” she replied, openingly sniffling now while holding her coffee in both hands, raising the mug up to her mouth for a small hesitant sip.

“The didn’t bar me from contacting her now did they?” you wink at Celine as the thought begins to translate. “I could write her a letter from me, and I could tell her all of the things you want to say to her. She could then reply to me, and I could send you a letter telling you all the things she wants to say to you.”

“Oh shit…..oh shit Al….oh my god Alcina that is brilliant!” she laughed, and you were somewhat shocked at her use of your full name. “Oh if you could do that then I would be in your debt forever my love.” Celine sniffled again, placing down the coffee mug and walking over to hug you as you sat.

“If we write her today, maybe it will even get there in time for Christmas?”

“Non….no…merd….non it’s too late for Christmas, but maybe before the New Year yes?” Celine’s eyes lit up as she thought of all the thing she wanted to say. To date she could only receive Michelle’s art, but she could never respond. She couldn’t even say a simple thank you. The torture of knowing Michelle was all alone with her parents, stuck in her old life, was nearly unbearable for Celine. “Ok, we write then tonight and we’ll send tomorrow morning ok?”

“That’s ok with me Celine, I’m happy to help.” you reply with a big smile on your face. There was no greater joy, you felt, than bringing happiness to those that need it. As strong and as brave as Celine outwardly appeared, she was just as any other person barred from expressing her love to her partner. She was imprisoned and powerless. You had now given her the opportunity to release all of the tension from her mind. You sipped on your coffee and marveled at the change in Celine. It was such a simple gesture that you were doing, but it meant the world to her. In truth you felt like you would do anything for her. Maybe this is why Michelle’s parents thought Celine was to blame. Maybe they saw in her what you saw, this incredible attraction and charisma that drew people to her. “You know, she was lucky to find you.” you say quietly to your french friend.

“You think so?” Celine replies, worry and doubt creeping into her voice and causing it to waver.

“I know so Celine. You make people around you better. You find the lost and you let them feel important. You make them feel wanted and needed. You did that for me.”

“I did?”

“More than you know…hun…more than you know.” as your words trail off you take Celine into your arms. Her petite frame disappearing into yours. A quiet sob escapes her mouth and she wraps her arms around you as well and there you both stood for a moment. In the quiet calm that only can come from love.

Faded

Your face, once so clear is fading
The softness of your lips, the clarity of your eyes
Just memories slowly slipping
Like snow melting on my skin.

The touch of your long hair grazing my arm
The scent of your perfume
Easily replaceable, but still.

Now just a breeze through the meadow
The image of serenity remembered
Dissolve to blackness, formless
Only a thought, no longer tangible.

I reach for you in the tendrils of my mind
but I can no longer grasp you
I can hear your voice, your laugh
but you are gone

You were the rain on my seed

Now you are the flower on my grave