40 comments/ 83224 views/ 6 favorites The Youth Trap Ch. 01 By: angiquesophie Of course he'd known. But for quite a while he just didn't know he knew. Yes, that needs some explaining, I guess. You see, when a horse wears blinkers, it can only see what is right in front of it. But it knows there is more. It can hear it, even smell it. But it doesn't see. Until it turns its head. One day John Filmore Cunningham turned his head. No, one day people turned it for him. Chapter One: How Sarah left him. Let me fill you in. John Cunningham overheard two men discussing the sexual prowess of his wife. Not in a hypothetical sense, mind you. They were comparing experiences. And they were rather graphic in doing that. Those experiences involved words like "slut", "deep throat" and "ass fucking". They were words he never associated with the woman he married twenty-one years ago. And even less with the mother of his daughter. They were actually so distant from the world they shared, that he never believed they were talking about her. It was in a pub. He was there with colleagues to celebrate the fact that every week has an end -- even this one. The two men were at the other side of a glass separation. It was only partly transparent, so he just got a sketchy image of them. Their voices were loud enough to be heard over the bar's din. They must have had quite a lot to drink to make them this uninhibited. As I said, it took John a while to notice that their bragging might concern him. So he must have missed quite a part of their conversation. Most of what he remembered was a poor reconstruction he did himself. He had to build it from what he heard after he really started listening. And that listening only began after one of the guys mentioned her name. As in "that Cunningham-cunt from accounting." Hearing your name that way usually gets your attention, doesn't it? And yes, his wife had a job in accounting at a big firm whose name the guys dropped only a few seconds later. Hearing this was enough to make him listen. But as I said, the choice of words was too alien to make him realize they actually might be talking about Sarah, his wife. And yet, there was enough to make him restless. He automatically stepped closer. But it seemed they were mostly finished. One of them belched. The other one said he had to go. John looked around the corner and only saw his back when the man went out on the street. He was heavy and bald on top. John Cunningham had no clue who the other one might have been. The place was rather busy. *** When John came home, half an hour later, Sarah wasn't there. Another half hour later she still wasn't. He wondered if it would have made him think twice if it weren't for the assholes he overheard. Or did he think twice because he felt there was something to it? Preposterous, he thought. Sarah had her right to unwind as well as he had. And she surely needed no clock to tell her when she was unwound enough to go home. But she could have phoned. She usually did when hours ran late. She did that a lot recently, he now realized. And he felt the echo of other evenings, nights, these last months. This last year. After another hour John called her on her cell phone. It was down. He tried her office. The cleaner took it. Then she hurried through the front door. Which excuse would you not have accepted? Rush hour? Car trouble? He might have accepted a delay. But two hours without a call? Could it have been a sudden bout of overtime? Well, maybe, though quite unusual on a Friday night, especially without her knowing earlier. Besides, the cleaner told him everybody had been gone for hours. Could she have forgotten the time while winding down with the girls? Could be. But it would have been a first to be later than two hours without calling. As I said: the belching brothers did have their effect on him. To be sure, she used neither of these excuses. To be even more precise, she used no excuse at all. Just a simple "hi". Then she raced up the stairs and took a shower. No need to say she never took showers when coming home. *** When she came down, she looked all-fresh. Her skin was a healthy pink and her hair still damp. You have to know she was a beautiful woman, not just by her husband's prejudiced standards. The crispy white blouse and the linen skirt hugged her trim body. She donned an apron and asked him to dress the table. Then she turned to get the dinner from the fridge. It took her a while to notice that he gave no reaction. She shoved the casserole in the oven and went to prepare a salad. He still had not started the table. "Something wrong?" she asked. She dried her hands on the apron. It was the first time she looked him in the eyes. "I might ask you," he said. She just stared. "Ask me what, honey?" "I worried. You were late. You never phoned." Her brow frowned. Then she threw a glance at the kitchen clock. "Oh dear, I see! So late already. I had no idea." Her hand had gone to her mouth. Then she came over to him and put her arms around his neck. "Truly sorry, honey. Forgot the time." Her blue eyes were steady. They drooped a bit and her eyebrows made small steeples. The effect was the look of a sorry puppy. John took her hands and pulled her arms off of him. He held them between their bodies. "Let's eat," he said. "I'm famished." *** That night they made love. Well, maybe it was love. It also was a disaster. John had problems to sustain his erection. And when he slid it into her, his half-hearted cock seemed to be lost in space. Sarah wasn't as tight as she used to be. Of course she wasn't. She was a mother. And she was past forty. Moreover, that night he wasn't as big as he usually was. Nor as hard. But he never before found her as loose as she was right then. She sighed and let him slip out. Then she took the weak cock in her warm mouth. John came without getting hard. It should have surprised her. She always aroused him easily. The first of his sperm dribbled on her tongue. She took the cock out with a disgusted grunt, catching the next faint dribble with her hand. John murmured an excuse and handed her a Kleenex. She cleaned her hand. Then she just turned around and faked sleep. It was more than he could. *** The next morning they had coffee for breakfast. John had a muffin, Sarah fresh fruit and cereals. They also had a glass of juice. They never were big breakfast eaters. Sarah had taken a shower. But she was still in her robe. John was wearing his sweat gear. He liked to have a run on early Saturday mornings. This one had been really early - he hadn't slept much. Sipping his coffee, he tried to catch her eyes. It took him a while. "Will talk help, Sarah?" he asked. She stared for a few seconds - right through him. "Help with what, honey?" she asked at last. "I think you are cheating on me, Sarah," he said. "I think you are seeing another man." Her face didn't change one bit. Her eyes never shifted. There were no twitching muscles. Nothing. She just stared. Blood rushed to his head. It felt like a glowing light bulb. He could only assume she agreed. He stammered. "Why, Sarah?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Why, John?" she said after more silence. Her surprise melted into a sneer. "Why indeed! Why would you think that I cheat on you?" John knew that when she used his name, things were serious. His more common name was honey. She must be hurt, offended even. Or at least agitated. "Why accuse me, John!" She almost screamed now. He held up his hand and bid her to lower her voice. Then he told her what he had heard in the pub. He added her being late without a phone call or even an excuse. And her unusual showering. He also mentioned her lack of concern at his erectile problems. And the looseness of her vagina. It was all very embarrassing. It oddly shamed him to doubt her. He had to take pauses. Or build sentences that would take the directness out of his accusations. She pushed away her cup. Then she rose and gathered her robe around her. "I don't have to listen to this," she said. And left the kitchen. *** John could have followed her to the bedroom. Maybe he should have. But he didn't. Was he being a wimp? Was it indecisiveness? Even fear, maybe? He didn't think so. He didn't think it was either of those things. Because he knew what kept him in his chair. It was the certainty that he had been right. He needed no more explanation. You see, Sarah never shunned a confrontation. She even welcomed them. Actually, she often blamed her husband for avoiding them. To keep the peace John hardly ever went for a confrontation. Or he retreated because the issue didn't merit the destructive ugliness of a fight. Right now Sarah had done exactly what he knew she hated. She had taken offence. She had looked downright hurt. But she did not confront him with it. She didn't challenge him or strike back. She left the field without a battle. This was highly unusual for her. And John knew why she did it. She had no valid answer to his question. And she did not have that because he had been right. Sarah cheated on him. *** When Sarah Cunningham returned from her visit to the supermarket, she found an empty house. It did not surprise her. As a matter of fact, she had already bought fewer groceries and skipped the usual cans of beer. She also forgot most of the meat. She expected John to be gone. And he was. She found the little note and read it. Then she crumbled it and threw it away. The kettle whistled. She poured the boiling water on the tea. The weather was nice enough to sit on the deck and enjoy it. She sat. And she enjoyed. Did she regret John leaving? She knew she would miss him. The ease, the comfort. And the memories. But she also knew she was already over him. She had been working towards this moment for over two years. She'd hardly ever wondered why it had been so easy to go behind John's back. Why there had been almost no guilt or remorse. She guessed she'd lost respect for him. He failed to command it, so why give it to him? He was such a nobody compared to other men she met. He just gave in, always putting his own desires behind hers. Maybe other women would call it love and devotion. Sarah found it irritating. She saw strong men bullying their will onto others and she admired them for it. Stan, for example. Now there was a man… A tiny shiver touched Sarah's crotch. To be honest, it was a surprise that it had taken so long for John to discover her cheating. An affront, even, she thought. Another testimony of his disinterest. Sarah had been fucking around on John ever since Julie, their daughter, had left the house for college. That was now almost two years ago. In the beginning they had been little flings and adventures. Flirtations that went out of hand. But these last months she at last gave free reign to the insatiable lust she had been feeling for years. Once more it amazed her how easy it had been to find young, delicious lovers. She was a good-looking woman. She kept herself attractive. As a matter of fact, she spent most of her self-earned money on it. Especially after she went to work full-time, a sizeable chunk of her income went to her wardrobe, lingerie, hairstyling and make up. She grimaced when she thought how John never objected. Did he even notice? She was over forty years old. At times she could almost have been the mother of the young men she fucked. But they had flocked to her. From the start she knew this was her life. She also had known from the beginning what she would do if John discovered it. If he would not accept it, she would choose her new life over this dreary existence she had with him. She would offer John a divorce. Or concur with one he'd offer her. She would never give up this new-found life. But she also decided from the start that she would not provoke discovery. She would hide it the best she could. She would never fuck them at home. And she'd never stay away without a good explanation. She also wouldn't make love to John right after fucking another man. Although he never ate her pussy, she wouldn't treat him on a sperm filled vagina. She thought she owed him that. As a matter of fact, she was quite proud of herself to have been this considerate. Over the last year she had shared her bed with quite a few of her male colleagues and even some of her clients. Most often it was one on one in a car or at a party. But there had been motels too, hotel rooms. And the occasional threesome. It had all been easy, pleasant and highly satisfying. It also did wonders to her self esteem. And it had resulted in a promotion and a rather nice bonus. To her amazement John never gave the slightest hint that he suspected anything. In their marital bed she had staid as conservative as she had always been. Their lovemaking was sweet, boringly dull and thank heaven: few and far between by now. She kind of liked the comfort of its predictability. She always allowed enough time to pass to tighten up her pussy. She never worried about her ass hole. John wouldn't go there. But now at last she had challenged fate. Things had changed. The arousal of the forbidden had long worn off. Keeping things a secret had become more of a nuisance than a stimulus. And of course, now there was Stan. And the wonderful thing he had asked her. Stan had joined the company half a year ago. Ah, Stan Milton… Tall, blond, strong, racing up the corporate ladder. He was tantalizingly virile, self confident, commanding, young, breathtakingly hung...and recently divorced. Did she love Stan? If not, why was she all giddy around him? Why was he always in her thoughts, dreams? If not love, what was it that made her knees weak? And Stan? Did he care about her too? Of course he did. He had told her more than once. And why else would he have asked her? Having Stan inside her was heaven. He was far from tender, mind you. He was huge, brutal, inconsiderate. And she lapped it all up. She needed Stan. She had to have him. She had to be free to be his devoted lover. To follow this exciting new road with him. To be alive, to be young again. That Friday afternoon two colleagues and occasional lovers had at her request talked a bit loud in a pub. She herself had been fucking Stan all afternoon in a motel. She had stayed out late without phoning. Then she had hurried home and not made any excuse. But she had taken a long shower. Even John should notice. But to lay it on just a bit thicker, she made sure that they'd make love later that night. He should have the chance to notice her drooling looseness. It surprised her that he could not sustain his erection. He never had that problem. But when she saw his weak orgasm dribble over her jerking hand, it dawned on her. He knew. Or he at least must have a strong suspicion. It seemed to emasculate him. She felt a short pang of guilt, which at once annoyed her again. The next morning at breakfast she amazed herself. She was unable to admit her cheating when he asked her straight out. She had deliberately provoked this moment. But when it came, she could not say the words. She had let her silence speak. Why? Did she still love John? Was that why? Was it shame? She chuckled incredulously. All right, she still was fond of him, in a way. It was a warm, slow and dispassionate liking. An old people's thing. They had been married for over 21 years now. A million ties had bound them together. Their struggling start, their house, the life they built. The memories. Many of those ties had already unraveled. It saddened her that now the last few would be severed. All except one…one would always stay: Julie. Julie was the only vibrant, glorious proof that remained of their love. A beautiful, lively girl. Intelligent, daring, young. If she still loved John at all, it was because of Julie, Sarah knew. She sighed and sipped her tea. Should she restrain her active, youthful sexuality? Just because of a husband who was too dull to satisfy her anymore? Who was too old to give her what she needed? Should she blame herself for that and regard it as a curse? She shrugged. If she would blame herself, it would have been like blaming the rain to fall. Or the lightning to strike. Besides - denying herself this delicious sensuality would turn her into a bitter, prematurely old woman. Who would profit from that? Life - or what remained of it - was here for the taking. It was sweet, and increasingly short. Wouldn't it be a sin to ignore it? Her cell phone rang. It was Stan. Butterflies soared. Just his voice made her pussy flow. Yesterday he had told her she was special. The best fuck he ever had. So much better than all these young bitches. And he had rammed his incredible cock up her ass again. Sarah smiled and confirmed the date. Receiving him at home would be a first. But not a last by a long shot. Sarah chuckled. Life was good. She rose and went upstairs to try out her new silk outfit. There was a spring in her step. * * * * ** The Youth Trap Ch. 02 Chapter Two: How a fallen tree saved him. Had he ever known his wife? I guess that this is what husbands think when they get in his position. It is probably the hardest question for a man to handle, too. The answer could mock your entire existence. Like ripping a tablecloth from under crystal and china. Leaving a mountain of shattered illusions. You may be amazed that he never saw it coming. Sure, he had seen her growing distant, this last year. But he thought it was the empty nest thing. And he thought she had dived into her job, going from a few days to fulltime. But mostly, yes, he hadn't noticed. You see, many men don't live in the now. They live around it. Their mind is on projects and dreams. On things to come, mostly. They love challenges - building, creating. They plan together and tell each other how important it all is. And of course they need to know how very good they are at it. Obsession is the word. It made John a poor judge of people. He hardly ever paused to look at them. And he was no exception. Men are like the boys at the beach, teaming up to build a sand castle. Or in the woods, damming a creek. The world narrows around them. They can only see the project at hand. The challenge. And they know they are safe. Their back is covered. At least, they think it is. As they plan their exhilarating projects together, they trust that they are lovingly cared for. Are they naïve? Or do they take it for granted? Women have a hard time understanding this outlook. And a hard time hiding their disdain. At best they make mild jokes about it and shrug their shoulders. Women live in the present. They own it. They love to meet and talk -- to weave a collective web that spreads in all directions. It is the fabric of the now. It sustains families, communities, workplaces, even whole cities. It is an intricate labyrinth. And they know their way instinctively. Men don't. They have no time to even see the web. That is why they get so easily caught in it, I guess. Women are sweet and beautiful spiders. They catch men. They cocoon them. And from that moment on the men leave the world to them. John considered his thoughts and he knew he was rambling. His mind was not as neatly arranged as it usual was. After he left the house, he parked his suitcase in an appropriately sad motel a few miles down the interstate highway. Then he walked. Or rather, he hiked. He hadn't been doing that much since he married Sarah. She was a city person. Her idea of relaxation comprised of beaches and shopping malls, tanning and the general beautification of her physique. John loved to hike as a boy. He used to devour country trails and mountain tracks when in high school. In college he used to find fellow devotees to hike through empty canyons and raft down the wildest rivers. Then he started courting Sarah. She was out of his league. I suppose that is how they call it when a serious guy falls for a party loving whirlwind. John knew he was the sturdy but beige colored rock to her frivolous sea surf. She was achingly beautiful. And she drowned him with her passion. He loved it. He drank it up with giant gulps. He was like a lost traveler crawling in from a scourged desert. I guess he never entirely understood why she wanted him. Maybe she did neither. It must have been love. After all, when you can't explain a thing, why not call it love? Or art. They were so close those first years. They shared sweet and hard times. They found pleasure and fun in everything. Traveling, discovering. And making Julie. She was a godsend. More so because her birth was complicated. It never threatened her or Sarah's life. But it meant they should not have other children. Sarah got a hysterectomy while in hospital. Is loyalty a sign of true love? John thought so. If Sarah had to, he would too. So John shared her fate and had a vasectomy. He didn't remember if she was pleased, back then. Last year she said he had been stupid. What if he found another woman and wanted children with her? He laughed. He thought she was joking. As he hiked through sand and tall grasses, John found out that he didn't recollect a lot of the more recent memories. They all seemed to have submerged in a grayish soup. But as he walked there, the high wind cleared his brain. Maybe there is a kind of love that isn't healthy, he thought. The kind that eats away at your self-esteem. The kind that prevents you from seeing how your lover's love is seeping away And the kind that makes you forget how you've started discarding your self. He sat down on a fallen tree, overlooking a valley. There he saw something else he'd forgotten. He saw how green trees are in May. How blue a clean-washed sky can be - how sparkling a meandering stream. His eyes almost smarted from the overload of restored impressions. As did his brain from the influx of long forgotten memories. Their pain at last tore through the numbness that had become too familiar to notice. You see, when they filmed vain Hollywood stars in the old days, they used to coat the lenses with Vaseline. It eased the contours and in a magical way reduced the wrinkles in a woman's face. I guess John coated his eyes with Vaseline as long as he had known Sarah. Call it love, call it stupidity. But there, on that fallen tree, the soft, familiar veil vanished. It was torn away. And it left him with reality. Can one overdose on reality? Oh yes. Just look at that man on the fallen tree trunk. Watch his shoulders shake. Hear his muffled sobs which even now he tries to hold back. When a dam breaks, it is impossible to register all the separate logs and debris and flotsam that pour out with the roaring stream. Don't even try to. Just wait until the waters subside. Then get into your waste-high boots and sort out the damage. It was what John did out there, on that tree. Sorting out the jetsam of his life with Sarah - weighing logs and chunks in his hands. He was amazed at how light they were. How brittle too. Except for one, a sparkling gem that lay in his hand and smiled at him. When he looked up, the sun was in his eyes. It almost touched the crowns of the trees. He rose on stiff legs to return to the sad little motel room. A long shadow preceded him. He had to make a phone call. *** "Mom?" "Julie! How are you, honey?" Sarah Cunningham shook her painted fingertips in a blur of burgundy. She loved that color. "Not good," the tiny voice inside her phone said. Sarah took care the mouthpiece didn't touch her freshly painted lips. "Dad just called me. He said he has left you." Sarah Cunningham groaned. Damn, did he have to tell her now? "Mom? What's going on? He sounded sad." Sarah pushed the button that would put the caller on loudspeaker. She carefully set the phone down against her vanity mirror. Then she resumed the painting of her left hand's nails. "Honey," she said, sweetening all traces of annoyance. "Don't be upset. Let's talk about it tomorrow. Can you come over? Can I see you somewhere? This can't be done over the phone, don't you agree?" Damn, she had made a smudge on her ring finger. Julie's voice rang through the bedroom. "Did the two of you separate, mom? Why didn't you tell me? What is going on?" Sarah sighed. Stan would be there to pick her up in minutes and she wasn't even remotely ready. "Please, honey," she said, trying to sound merry. "I really can't talk now. I have an appointment and I'm late already. Let's talk at the gym tomorrow. Lunchtime at the little coffee thing?" There was a baffled silence. Sarah leaned into the phone. "Julie? There really isn't a thing to worry about, honey. All is well. It is just between your father and me. Nothing for you to be upset about. I love you. Daddy loves you. Please? Tomorrow at twelve!" Julie tried to say something, but Sarah cut her off. "Must run now, darling. Sorry!" And she disconnected. Sarah Cunningham rose. She stepped into her four inch heeled burgundy pumps and walked to the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She loved how the heels pushed her up. She tucked the white blouse deeper into her skirt, making her tits press into the thin material. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder down her ass and legs. "Damn…" she whispered. "You are so hot." The doorbell chimed. *** Julie looked well, although a bit flustered. He mused. Is it possible for a twenty-year-old girl to not look gorgeous, even when she looks worried? It must be that one ingredient: youth. Envied by the old, taken for granted by the young. "Hi dad," she said and she kissed him. "You look tired." It was so good to feel her firm body press into his. They sat down at the little table in the back of the tiny Italian restaurant. The smile didn't leave their faces. The silence was quite okay. He liked her simple sweater and told her so. Sky blue had always been her color. "Did you call your mother?" he then asked. "I did," she said. "But she had to leave. I'll see her tomorrow at lunch time." "Yes," he said, toying with his napkin. "Your mother is one busy lady at the moment." Her hand covered his. Her eyes seemed huge. "Daddy. What is going on?" The waitress interfered. They ordered. John held back till she brought their wine, bread and water. "Julie," he started, turning the glass to make the ruby liquid catch the candlelight. "Your mother has no need for me anymore." She gasped. "What do you mean, dad? What…" He shushed her. "Honey," he went on. "You are young. Everything is new and exciting. Just as new and exciting as things were when your mother and I met. We fell deeply in love and it felt…unique. We were convinced that we must be the only ones in the world feeling such intense love for each other. It was…" John had to pause. Finding words for the overwhelming memories was impossible. He smiled an apology. "Darling. If you want to know how incredibly deep our love was, just look in the mirror. It was what made you." His hand was now on hers. He felt a tear burn in the corner of an eye. Julie had stopped breathing. "Oh, Daddy," she said. "You were born and we learned you would be our only child. Ah well, you know that. But I now know that there was more that started ending then. I think from those years on your mother gradually stopped loving me." Julie stared in horror. Then she shook her blonde head in protest. The rims of her eyes swam with tears. He raised his hand to stop her. "You see, honey, I think I disappointed your mother. I think I ought to have been someone else. Stronger maybe - more ruthless? More ambitious for sure. Fond of showing off. But I wasn't like that. I never was. I thought she loved me for it." John smiled apologetically, drawn into the sadness of his thoughts. "I tried to pamper her with my love. I worked real hard to give her all I thought she needed. I believed I gave her all she asked for, but she kept asking more. And in the end it may not have been what she wanted at all…" John guessed he confused Julie. She just stared, slowly shaking her head. "Honey," he went on, wondering why his voice was so calm. "All considered there is no one to blame but me. And time. You can't understand that now. I guess I wouldn't have either at your age. But time is the great love killer. It drags and gnaws. It can change us into these giant, clammy slugs. We are condemned to crawl along an endless concrete road that has no feature but repetition." "Please, Daddy, don't," she whispered. He smiled and tapped her hand. "Sorry, yes. I should not talk to you like that," he apologized. "Because it doesn't have to be like that. It never was for me. I had two unique people in the world to love. They kept every moment new for me. They were worth every hour I worked." He sighed as the thought came to him. "I guess I was by then quite limited in the way I expressed my love. I worked. I put in hours, weeks, months of work. I thought it mattered. I was wrong, wasn't I?" He felt Julie's fingers squeeze his hand. Their appetizers arrived. A salad for her, antipasti for him. He was sure it was excellent - he hardly tasted it. "I had all I needed, I guess. I think it was different for your mother," he went on. "And I blame myself now for not seeing it. You know…I had my love for her and you. And I loved the challenges of my work. Projects to do, things to create, mates to meet, journeys to make. My days overflowed." John put down his fork. "It was all very different for your mother. In the end the only thing that kept time from destroying Sarah, were you, Julie. But you are a child. You grow. It's nature's way. You have to find yourself, get into your own…" He suddenly fell silent. The risk of where he was heading loomed over him. He saw how his words could make Julie feel the blame was hers. That was the very last thing he wanted. "Anyway," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to smile the clouds away. "These last few years I fell short. It should have been my love that kept the demons of time away from the woman I love. I failed…" "Oh no!" Julie exclaimed. "You never failed. You…" He once more silenced her. "Oh yes," he said. "My love was nothing. It was a child's bow and arrow in the path of a roaring bull. Time's indifference entered our house. And it found your mother wide open. She never had a chance. And I did nothing to save her. Did I even see it?" Julie now cried openly. John could kick himself for causing it. All he could do was hand her his napkin. "She had reached forty. Time would make her an old woman soon. Her house would be empty. You'd be away. And I had already left long ago, in a way. Do you remember how she went from three days to fulltime at her job? How she started dressing sexier? Working out even more? How she had to travel a lot? Well, after you went to college there were times when she hardly came home at normal hours anymore." Julie had turned pale. He hated himself for going on. But he had to. "Oh, she always had good reasons for being late or away. It was work and who was I to deny her a career? I had been absent so much myself. You see, she had every right to at last think of herself. And if I might not agree, she was ready to explain it to me." There was a silence, a moment where they both did not seem to have words. Maybe there were no adequate ones left. Julie sipped from her water. "It wasn't all work with her, was it, daddy?" Her voice was small, a carefully padded cradle for dangerous thoughts. "Maybe at first it was," he answered. "Maybe at first she thought that her new freedom might be found through a successful career. I don't know. But I do know now that she needed more proof." Julie looked up. "Proof?" "Yes, proof that she was still young and attractive. That she still was visible - a force to be reckoned with. I'm sure there were enough men around her to massage her ego. And to convince her of the usefulness of certain ehm…female qualities." He hated the squeamishness of his words. Julie no doubt lived in a world where directness was a way of life. But to him she still was the little girl. She always would be, he guessed. "Did the two of you talk at all about this?" she asked. John had to admit that they hadn't. He told her that it hadn't seemed necessary. They lived alongside, ships in the night. He guessed he didn't even look. She seemed happy, he was busy. "Maybe it is a one time thing?" she tried. "Maybe she'll be sorry?" Their pastas were brought. The waitress took his almost untouched appetizer with her. He smiled apologetically. He feared the newly brought plate would share its fate. "No, honey. I don't think it is a one-time thing. Nor do I think she'll be sorry. Or that she'll stop, eh, seeing men. Because, you know, seeing the men is only an expression of her real need to prove herself. She won't give that up." "You must talk with her, dad." "I, eh…I don't think it will be of much use, honey." Her eyes flooded again. Damn. "But if it means anything to you, I shall, Julie." "Oh god, dad. This is all so sad." "Yes, it is. But now you must eat." *** Sarah Cunningham had found a table in the shadows. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her skin glowed. Maybe it was from working the machines. Or from the ultra violet bath she had taken. Mostly, however, it glowed from the dollar-a-drop cream she had rubbed into it. At her age she knew better than to risk her delicate skin to the rays of the real sun. Going to the gym had started after Julie had been born. She'd had to exercise added pregnancy pounds away. Ever since those days she had been ruthless to her body. She went to the gym at least three times a week. These last years she even went every other day. She knew it paid off. She saw it in the eyes of the young men who kept hitting on her. She saw it in the mirror when she tried on the same tiny sized dresses she had worn in her twenties. She felt it at work, at parties, at pool sides and malls. It even paid off here, where so many much younger hard-bodies paraded their assets. She had no need for surgical help -- yet. Her tits were firm, her belly flat. Her toned legs still did the trick marvelously. And the few spidery lines around her eyes were an advantage over the empty, soulless botox masks of her competition. Sarah Cunningham sighed contentedly. She sipped the tall fruit juice cocktail in front of her. Her world was perfect. Then her pink bubble burst. From across the terrace came a young woman. She had the same blonde, dancing curls. The same spotless skin and blue sparkling eyes. The catlike walk too, smooth and effortless. The legs. But her blonde hair was real. It took more lustre from the sun. The bounce came easier. Her skin glowed deeper. Her eyes had the inimitable shine of innocence. And her walk betrayed no guile. There was no calculation. The girl seemed not even aware of the many eyes following her. She was just Julie and it seemed enough to her. Sarah saw her daughter weave through the chairs and tables. A pang of jealousy hit her chest. Ah, surely not jealousy! Envy, maybe? Just a pinch of envy? She rose to hug her daughter. Her lips only kissed the air. Pleasantries were exchanged, the latest news followed and a second juice was ordered. Then a silence fell. Julie knew her mother never had much small talk. And it had never bothered her before. But now it did. Now she felt the indifference it was based on. The dinner with her father had changed the way she thought about her mother. It didn't change her as in altered, it was just as if Sarah had moved from the shadow into the sun. New details showed, soft outlines became sharper. Julie saw her mother as she would see most people around her. With a clear, analytical eye. The eye of a grown woman, no longer a child. Still a loving daughter, maybe, but no longer unconditional. She put down her glass. "Mom, you know why I'm here. What is happening?" Her mother closed and opened her painted lashes. She cleared her throat. "Ah honey, it is such a pity, but it happens all the time nowadays, doesn't it? We have grown apart, your father and I. These things happen. I am really sorry. I always thought we'd grow old together." She sighed. "It is not to be." Then she stretched a hand out to Julie. The Youth Trap Ch. 02 "Please, Julie. We both love you, that won't change. Please believe me, we always will." Julie just stared at her. She was taken aback by the ease with which her mother produced the most banal platitudes in front of her, her daughter of twenty years. She was just citing all the humbug from glossy magazines and shitty TV shows. And she obviously believed she could get away with it. Julie waved her hand in front of her mother's face. "Hey, mom?" she said. "Look? It is me, remember? Julie, your daughter who is almost as clever as you?" The lashes fluttered in a short frenzy now. Was there a blush on the pampered cheeks? Another sigh. "Yes, sorry darling. I'm awful. Please understand, I am so upset. I really don't know how to tell you this." "Why not try the truth?" Julie was amazed by her own words. She had never talked to her mother like this. But the insincere woman in front of her provoked it. Sarah moved uneasily in her tiny designer chair. Her burgundy nails tapped her tall glass. A whiff of irritation seemed to knit her eyebrows for just a second. Then she looked up. "Honey. This really is something between your father and me. We love you both and always will. Please, let's keep this away from you. John and I grew apart. We no longer are the people who fell in love. It happened. Let's please accept that and move on." For the first time a hot peak of anger rose inside Julie. Her voice seemed to struggle in her throat to get out. "That's it, mom? That is all you have to tell me?" The eyes in front of her closed. A corner of the glossed-over lips seemed to tremble. "It's for the best, honey. Believe me." At that moment Sarah's name was called from the entrance. A tall blonde man walked up to their table. He looked good and well trimmed. He was maybe halfway in his thirties. When he reached their table, Sarah got out of her chair. Her eyes darted from the approaching man to her daughter and back. She seemed nervous, not really knowing what to do. The man did. He pulled her to him in a hug. His mouth was on its way to Sarah's, but at last she turned away. It landed on her cheek. "Eh, Stan," she said with a shaky voice. "Please meet my daughter Julie. Julie, this is Stan, we work together." It was all rather awkward. Julie shook his hand and smiled at his smooth compliments. She watched him as he once more turned towards Sarah. She noted the white polo over his broad chest, the immaculate slacks. Blonde hair on his tanned arm. He made a lame remark about how they could have been sisters. Then he whispered something while leaning in to Sarah. She nodded nervously and pushed him away. The man laughed. "See you honey!" he said. Then he walked back to his two buddies who were waiting at the entrance. He said something and a loud laughter accompanied them inside. "Are you fucking him, mom?" Julie asked when they were alone again. Her mouth had become a thin line. Sarah paled. Then she got angry. "Who taught you words like that, Julie? I don't have to take that from you! This is really uncalled for!" Sarah was all movement now. Her hands fluttered, her hair danced around her face. She moved her little purse from left to right and back again. Julie just kept staring at her. "You do fuck him, don't you? And you have for a long time. Did dad find out?" "You are wrong!" Sarah's voice had risen an octave. "You are wrong. We work together, Stan and I. We are good friends. Those things happen, you know? This is 2008. Can't I have friends? Does my high and mighty daughter disapprove?" The angry voice carried. Heads turned. Julie moved her chair back. It screeched a bit on the stones, not unlike her mother's voice. "Is there really nothing you have to tell me, mom?" Sarah stopped moving. Her eyes were hard now. "I wouldn't know what, Julie." The girl rose. "I see. Well, mommy dear, that is your privilege. But please, don't call me until you do have something to tell me. Preferably the truth. Okay?" Sarah gasped. She lifted a hand in protest. "No, Julie, don't. Don't listen to him. I am your mother, please. Don't let him get between us." Julie had already turned halfway. She stopped. "You mean daddy? Ah god. You don't know him at all, do you? Did you ever? You are so pathetic. Bye mom. Have all the fun you need." The blonde girl turned on her heels and walked away from the equally blonde woman. Sarah's hands squeezed her purse. "Fuck you, John," she hissed. "Fuck you." * * * * * The Youth Trap, Ch.03 Chapter Three: How his life went on. For the first time since it all happened, John slept well. It must have been the hike. The dinner with Julie, too. And the plan, of course. It was the kind of plan that makes you wake up with a feeling of expectation. The kind that leaves a rush of excitement. It makes you smile the moment you think of it. That is how you know it is a good plan. It should be followed up. Yesterday he saw Frank. He hadn't seen him in a few months and it made him feel a bit guilty to call him now. But Frank was very good about it. Wasn't this what friends are for? He'd known Frank since grade school. After high school he went on to a far away university, but somehow they never lost contact. They were able to pick up again after he returned and opened his practice here as a psychologist. He had married a lovely brunette, Marie, and the four of them became good friends. They got two boys after John and Sarah had Julie. They played tennis, the children played, they even spent a few family vacations together. Then, about two years ago, Sarah suddenly told John she didn't want to see them anymore. He tried to find out why, but she never cared to give him details. She even told Julie not to see the boys anymore. John felt greatly embarrassed. So he went to see Frank and told him of Sarah's sudden decision. He remembered Frank to have been uneasy about it. Then he surprised John by telling him that Marie didn't want to see them either, anymore. He never found out the why. Neither did Frank, he said. As men often do, they just shrugged away their lack of understanding and went on seeing each other over an occasional evening of pool or a night at the pub. John didn't tell Sarah. She would not have understood. At the bar where they met, he told him about Sarah cheating on him, how he found out and about her reaction. He also told Frank he had left the house. Then he went on to tell him about the hike. The sudden change that had come over him. And how he looked back on the last few years. The darkness he saw, or the film of grayness, rather. His feelings - or his lack of them, to be precise. It must have surprised Frank - they never talked about things like this. He sure surprised himself. As John went through his tale, he saw how Frank paled a little. He fidgeted with his glass of beer. And when John paused, Frank suddenly apologized. As a friend, he said, but more even as a doctor he had failed him. He should have seen what happened. His outburst surprised John. Then Frank said how John had evolved all the telltale signs of a depression. And he felt responsible, he said. He, a doctor, had not seen it. He had not seen the numbness. The obsession with work. The not being in touch with the world. When Julie had left the house and Sarah had gradually turned her back on John, he had let himself sink into it, Frank said. John had blamed all that happened on his lack of interest and involvement. Even now he maybe thought it had been him who drove Sarah away. But it had been his illness. John saw what he meant. The depression had swallowed him up, and there was nobody who saw it. No one at his work. Why would they care as long as he functioned? Not Julie, only being home at holidays and a few weekends. She was just too excited and preoccupied with her new life to see. And during her precious visits John always did his best to be great company. And Sarah? Ah well. Even if she'd had the time or the desire to look at all, why would she have cared? She was too busy getting young again. Too busy freeing herself from the chains an old laggard like her husband tied her down with. Not even Frank had seen it. John was a friend, not a patient. And John had always been glad to see him. Their meetings were upbeat, an escape. They never talked problems. But yes, Frank said. He should have seen. He went out of his way apologizing. He asked if John wanted therapy, treatment. So John told him about his plan. Frank chuckled and told him he had always been a pigheaded bastard. But yes, it might work. There might be loneliness to cope with, though. A sure pitfall for depression. So let him please prescribe some medicine. John patted his shoulder. "Today I had all the medicine I need," he said. "I feel all excited about tomorrow. I am washed clean and shining. I'll keep in touch." They had another beer and left. John hadn't slept as well in years. *** Sarah Cunningham looked past the man's strong, handsome profile. Through a haze of unshed tears she saw the plane lift off the tarmac. They had spent three days in glorious Vegas. It should have left her in a state of bliss. The familiar pull of g-forces should have been mixed with clouds of butterflies in her belly. But all they pulled at was an empty space. Sure enough, at the start it had been heaven. How else to describe three days in Vegas with a blonde god, all expenses paid? The football-field sized suite, the glittering shows and opulent dinners. The new dresses, risky lingerie, her body bathing in a warm sea of compliments. But most of all: in her lover's undivided attention. She should be exhausted from the endless nights of fucking - the avalanches of orgasm. Well, exhausted she was. Sore, beat, worn out were also words describing her nicely. There wasn't a bone or a muscle in her body that didn't ache. Her skin was strewn with bites and bruises. And yet, instead of satisfied, she felt down, disappointed, shocked, downtrodden and humiliated. She had trouble even remembering the first day now. The excited mood she was in when they walked into their suite, looking out over the city. Ah yes, at the time it felt as if the room was a floating cloud against a sky of blue. Her heart had throbbed in her throat. She had embraced Stan and she never let go of him until he had ripped every piece of clothing off her body and fucked her to a triple explosion of utter lust. The bellboy hadn't even had the chance to close the door. He must have left the room in embarrassment. Or was it envy? After that they had gone out swimming, shopping, dining and dancing. Then they returned to their room, no doubt to resume the sex fest. Sarah Cunningham groaned. Her face winced at the memory. They had returned to their suite all right. They had kissed and groped all the way up. At the suite, Stan had told her to take a long shower and make herself beautiful for him. He said he would lay out some sexy things for her to wear. So, feeling like a young, ditzy girl she giggled and went into the bathroom. Glowing and only dressed in a cloud of expensive perfume, she returned from her bath. She excitedly looked on the bed for her outfit. But besides a rather cheap set of stay-up net-stockings and two crazily heeled red platform sandals there was nothing. She swallowed. Then she shrugged, giggled and called his name. There was no answer. She looked around and did not see him. "Naughty boy!" she exclaimed, picking up the stockings. The slippery nylon slid through her fingers. To be certain she looked around for maybe a nice negligee on a hanger -- a pretty teddy, maybe? Or even a baby doll? There was nothing but the whorish thigh highs and the porn heels. Should she find a black thong and bra from her own wardrobe? And maybe the short sexy negligee she had bought only last week? Did she dare? Stan might get upset -- he had been quite clear about his wishes. She giggled once more and sighed - silly boy's fantasy. Then she sat down and rolled the stockings up her smoothly shaven legs. The heels almost made her topple when she took her first steps. It was all so cheap. It made her feel incredibly sluttish. "Stan?" she asked, when the door to the suite opened. The man was a giant and he was black. He wore a blue business suit, just as the two white men accompanying him. Sarah gasped. Her arms flew up to cover her tits and shaven pussy. "Wrong room!" she yelled. Her voice was a squeak. "Please leave," she went on. "You are in the wrong room." The men chuckled. They never stopped walking up to her. "I'll call my husband! Stan?" Sarah tried. "Stan?" But the men only laughed louder. When they reached her, they simply pulled her arms off her body. One of them held her from behind, forcing her tits out in obscene display. He closed a hand over her open mouth. The two other men undressed until they were naked. Their cocks rose from their loins. They were large, hard and very ready. It was the start of a very long night for Sarah Cunningham. She couldn't even exactly remember when it ended. But she knew when she woke up that it must have been late morning, almost noon. Her body looked like a battlefield, only there was no blood - just a lot of yellowish white goo, caked all over her skin. The smell of stale sex was all around her. The sheets stuck to her skin. And her pussy felt as if it was on fire. So did her nipples, her ass and the joints of her jaws. She stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror made her groan. Her hair stood out in a sticky halo. Mascara and lipstick were everywhere. And she wondered what the traces of white powder were that lined her nostrils. God, did the shower feel good. Twelve or more jets surrounded her. They massaged her sore body. The sizzling water at least took some of her exhaustion with it down the drain. When the steam cleared up, she inspected herself. The swollen red nipples were crowned with fiery bites and hickeys. The puffy red pussy-lips still oozed a sick dribble of white. She winced when she tried to touch her ass hole. Even the fluffy bathrobe hurt. On a side table stood a huge breakfast. She had a ravenous hunger. The food was still hot. They must have wheeled it in when she was in the shower. She saw that the bed had been made too. When she was halfway through her scrambled eggs, the door opened. It was Stan. He wore an Armani suit and a wide smile. He grabbed her from the back. She squealed, yelling to let her alone. He just grinned. "Hard night, honey?" She threw her spoon at him. He ducked with a chuckle. "Stan!" she yelled. "I am through with you! You goddamn traitor, leaving me with those gorillas. What the fuck did you think! I feel so humiliated." She cried in rage and frustration. He grabbed her milling arms and held them close to her body. His face almost touched hers. "Humiliated, Sarah? Really? I am amazed you even know the word. You really should see yourself on tape, honey. If it's true that you really didn't love every second of it, you must be the greatest actress alive." He let go of her. She sank down in her chair. The towel had left her hair. "Tape?" she said, defeated. He picked a sausage from her plate, relishing it. "Oh yes, honey. And you know the good part? It is only the first episode of three." *** Back in the plane Sarah looked at the man next to her. The hangover sat heavily on her brow. Thank God for sun glasses. "I thought you cared for me," she said. Her voice sounded thick and viscous. He looked up from his magazine. "Who, me?" he answered, grinning. Tears welled from her eyes again. He smiled and laid a hand on her arm. "Teasing, honey. Of course I care for you. Do you know how much you made for me, this weekend?" Sarah just sobbed. The dawning had been cruel. To find out after almost thirty years that you never learned a thing since turning fourteen can be quite sobering. Stan had never let her out of that room. He had a masseuse sent up to treat her sore body. It had felt heavenly. Stan had fed her through room service. He had also handed her pills and forced her to take them. Then he made her don another whorish outfit in black vinyl. The boots that went with it again had platforms and impossible heels. He sent her back into the bathroom until he was satisfied with the most sluttish make up and hairdo she ever wore. That second night there had been five men. Two of them were overweight, one was over sixty years old. She must have passed out long before the last cock spewed into her. Or on her. Or wherever. The next day she had begged him to let her leave. She had tried to phone. The hotel phone was dead and her cell had vanished. In the end she even threatened to kill herself. That had made Stan tear a muscle from laughing. Now they were on their way back. Sarah had been totally subdued, these last hours. She had a raging hangover and walked through the departure hall like an old and fragile lady. The huge sunglasses were hardly adequate to hide her misery. "I hate you," she said to the blonde man. "I know, honey," he answered and returned to his magazine. *** John closed the door to his former home - now not even his house anymore. He slipped the key back inside. The morning was cool, but it promised to warm up nicely. Yesterday had been a busy day. So had the day before. Finance management didn't have many secrets for him. But preparing divorce papers was a rather new experience. As was quitting a job he had held for over twenty years. He'd had to give a month' notice, but he had accumulated a lot of vacation days with his crazy work ethics of the last two years. He promised to be back for a proper goodbye-party. He knew, however, that it would take quite a while to materialize. If ever. These last days had felt like wiping clean an old fashioned school board. All traces of his life slowly disappeared in clouds of chalk. He admired the perfect emptiness he left behind. The last thing John had done this morning, was walk through the house that had been his home. Their home. There were things missing now, mostly clothes, a few photographs. But somehow it felt right. The absence of all these tiny material things were nothing compared to the gaping hole inside him. He hummed when he walked around. He saw pictures. He saw the bookstand he had made himself. With a careful hand he checked that it still wobbled a bit. He grinned. All things he did himself had a definite personal touch to them. They either wobbled, didn't close well or squeaked with use. How appropriate. The last thing John did was reach inside his pocket. He produced a rather fat envelope. It just said "Sarah" on the front. He put it at the centre of the kitchen table. It leant against the very ugly but fondly loved vase Julie made at school when she was six. Sarah would find the envelope when she came back from wherever she seemed to be. It contained just two things. One was a set of divorce papers. The other was a neat business card of his lawyer. He closed the door behind him. The silver camper shone in the early sun. John ran his hand admiringly along its aluminum skin. Having to climb high into the cabin sent a rush of anticipation through his body. He sat and grabbed the huge, flat steering wheel. A memory hit him. He remembered sitting in his uncle Jack's lap. His short five-year-old arms had to stretch wide to hold the giant wheel of his mighty truck. They drove, he steered. Jack's booted foot pressed the gas. It was all very exciting. And it all came back. The mighty roar of the engine. The wind through the open window. Uncle Jack's gravely voice in his ear: "Go, Johnny! Let's hit the road!" The camper sprang to life when he turned the key. John once more looked back to the quiet house. The sun was halfway down its front. A little black and white cat jumped the fence, returning from its night's prowl, no doubt. John loved how the big wheels crunched the pebbles of their short driveway. "Let's hit the road," he whispered. *** His first stop came quickly. Julie's campus was about thirty miles down the road. She could easily have stayed home after going to college. But she wanted to feel the total experience, as she said. John had felt sorry to see her leave, but he'd never said so. Sarah had been openly pushing it, of course. With all the right arguments of freedom and independence. At that time John never thought she meant her own. He turned in at a small breakfast place, just off campus. It was still early, but that was all right. It would allow him a while with Julie before she had to go to classes. He saw her at one of the tables. All seemed so fresh and new today. The checkered table cloth. The sun filtering in. Her wide blue eyes. The smile on her face. They hugged. "You are really going to do this," she said. He grinned. "Allow an old man his silly boyhood dreams, darling." "Oh, I do!" she chuckled. "As many as you can find." They ordered breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee and fried bacon almost made his lungs burst from his chest. They talked silly little memories. Not a word was spent on Sarah. Time raced by. He looked at his watch and grabbed her hands. "Julie," he said. "I need three promises before I leave." She smiled. "Only three?" "Three," John said. "First: get as happy as you can." He felt her fingers squeeze his. "That one's easy," she whispered. Her eyes got a film of moisture. "Promise," John insisted. She reached over and kissed his cheek. "Promise," she said. "Second," he went on. "Talk to Sarah when she calls you. Give her a chance." The smile went away. "Promise!" he said. He held her hands in a vice. "Daddy…" she said. "Promise, Julie." There was a silence. It lingered on. Then she nodded. "Promise. But only if she tells the truth." John stared at her. "Good enough," he then said. "Third…" He rose from the table and reached inside his pocket. He produced a quarter. It shone as he turned it with his fingers. "Julie, I want you to toss this coin. Heads is east, tails is west." He handed her the coin. She laughed. All was well again. The silver flashed as the coin tumbled through a beam of morning sunlight. It returned from its zenith and landed in her palm. Without looking she turned the hand and slapped it on the back of the other. Then she uncovered it. The absolute recklessness of what he was doing sent a rush of excitement to his heart. This was fate. The freedom to allow it happening made him feel dizzy. "Tails!" Julie said. John embraced her. They walked outside to the parking lot. Julie gasped as she saw the camper. "Wow, Dad. It's big." He showed her around. She was impressed. Then he gave her a slip of paper. It held his mobile phone number. It was a new number, no one else had it. "I'll keep in touch, honey," he said. "Just you and me. Promise, no one else can have this number." She promised with a nod. They both cried. The last he saw of her was a tiny, waving dot in the side-mirror. Swallowing can be hard work at times. * * * * * The first thing she saw was the key. She'd expected that she'd have to push the front door hard because of the mail and papers. But there was only the key. It shone brightly against the deep red doormat. Only John and Julie had one. She picked it up and walked into the house. The second unusual thing she saw was an empty spot on the wall, right over the couch. A picture was missing. The one of Julie and John when they had gone to Disney World, eight years ago. Why was it missing? Who had taken it? Nothing else seemed missing. She walked on to the kitchen, aching for a cool drink. The white envelope jumped at her from the table. The Youth Trap, Ch.03 "Sarah" it said. She knew the writing. With a sigh she sat down heavily on a chair. A dull stab up her ass hole made her flinch. Then her hand reached out for the letter. It stopped half way. After landing, Stan had let her fend for herself. He had disappeared at once after scoring his luggage. He didn't even help her getting hers off the conveyor belt. She'd just had enough cash to pay for a cab home. Now she stared at the envelope. A sob wrecked her sore body. "Congratulations, Sarah. Well done girl," she said. Her voice fell flat in the silent kitchen. Then she broke down crying.