12 comments/ 37793 views/ 4 favorites Anita & Me: A Story By: tarkatony I met Anita Frank at Modeling Class, an idea borrowed from the world of painting. Basically, like in the visual arts, students study a model but rather than draw, they write about what they see and then share their work for critical evaluation with others in the class. Anita's badly pockmarked face was crimson red as she mumbled the words from her notebook: ‘Don't you ever wonder what a person's body looks like under the sweater? Whether they have tattoos or birthmarks or scars. How much fat. Whether it's an in-ie or an out-ie; the kind of underwear. The body tells so much about a person. How can you not speculate? Why just absorb what you see through your eyes? What's that? It's just what a person wants you to see. Why not speculate on what might be under the clothing? Isn't that a lot more interesting, so much more fun?' Three weeks later Anita and I ended up in the same coffee shop after class. "Tell me something?" I asked. "Last week you wrote about the model's face. This week you wrote about her hands, but three weeks ago you gave us a prolonged lecture on the need to look beneath her sweater …" "It was dumb." "Dumb?" "It was a dumb thing to write. I came late to class; I didn't know we had to read out loud what we had written. That night, for the first time in my life, I thought I'd try to be assertive. I was trying to be artsy. I was trying to pretend I knew what I was talking about. It was stupid. I blushed for a week. When you and Ann made fun of me I almost quit the class …" "We didn't make fun of you," I objected. "I saw the way you looked at each other …" "I was looking at her tits," I laughed, "Like you suggested." She clearly wasn't pleased. "What do you mean, like I suggested." "You said it was OK to try and look beneath the sweater. So I did." Then I added, "And I have." When Anita took a deep breath, her large breasts swelled against her baggy shirt, then she shook her head in disgust and reached for her purse. "OK, sorry. Don't run away. Finish your coffee." When she settled back in her chair she was looking at some spot in the corner of the room as I studied her face. I was surprised at how different she looked now compared to the first time I'd seen her. Then, I thought she was aggressive, sure of herself, in charge, in control. She didn't look that way now. Far from it. Tonight, she looked nervous, lonely and scared. "What do you do for a living?" She still looked at the spot in the corner. "Office manager for a construction company." "Which one." "Frank's." "That's your last name, isn't it, Frank?" She nodded. "Family's company?" She nodded again. I was impressed, it was one of the biggest construction companies in the state and by all accounts getting bigger fast. "I'm a bored-to-death corporate lawyer. Any wonder why I come out to a writing class?" Then I tried to draw a smile out of her, "Any wonder why I rush to take the advice of a woman who tells me to write about what's under her sweater? "Let's not talk about that any more, OK?" "Too bad, it was fun, a hell of a lot more fun then writing the fine print of contracts. Are you going to ask me to dinner?" The words just hung there for a moment — I was as surprised by them as she was. "You want me to ask you to dinner?" "Yes." And I did, I wanted to get to know her, there was something about her that I found really appealing. She hesitated, she seemed to be searching for her decision in her coffee mug. "When?" "How about Friday night." "OK." XXX "How long have you lived here?" "Three years." She was standing at the stove, stirring. I looked around. The place looked almost unlived in. None of the chairs seemed indented with use; the remotes were on top of the TV and stereo. There was no sign of use of any kind. "How many hours a week do you work?" She laughed, "About 80. Why?" "Just wondered." I picked up my beer and as I walked over to look at a painting I took a quick look into her bedroom and was surprised to see a large and full book case with two stacks of books piled before it. "You like to read?" "Yes." "What?" "I majored in Philosophy. It's ready." Then she added with a what sounded like a laugh, "I hope." While she spooned the stroganoff onto the plates I opened the wine I had brought. "Thanks for the invite," I saluted her with my full glass. When she smiled she didn't look at me. "You invited yourself." "And I'm glad I did." "Say that after you've tasted the creation." "You don't cook?" "Seldom.," then she shrugged, "Well, never, really." I tried some. "It's good," I lied. "Lucky I can read." "You write well, too." She continued looking at her untouched food, saying nothing. "You're supposed to say thanks." "Thanks." "You're welcome. But you do. You're the best in the class. By far. I'm the worst." I waited for her to look up and object, but she didn't. "I see you don't disagree." "Have you every really regretted something you've said?" "Of course." "I hadn't, not until three weeks ago when I gave the class that dumb lecture about …" "I thought we weren't going to bring that up again." "No, right." "But you were right, you know. Life is a lot more interesting if you try to look beneath the obvious." She didn't say anything. "You don't have a tattoo, do you?" "No." "You wear practical underwear, don't you. I didn't think so at first, after that lecture. But now I do." She was still studying her food, "I'm practical." "And pretty." "I wish." "The acne was bad." "Yep." "Doesn't do much for the confidence." "Nope." "Or the cooking." When she looked up, the confused look on her face quickly spread into a wide smile. "Awful isn't it?" "Yep," I said, pushing my plate away, "Pizza or the Colonel." "Well it's not going to kill you." "You sure?" She seemed to think about this for a moment then said, "How about Chinese?" We had an hour to wait before the food would arrive so I asked her if I could look at her library. I was sitting on her bed paging through a tome when she came in and stood next to me. "You read this?" I was holding a modern copy of Issac Newton's Principia Mathematica. "I read bits of it, now and again." "When was it written, five hundred years ago?" "It was published in 1687." I looked up at her, fascinated. "What do you get out of it?" "When Newton wrote that science was just emerging as a discipline so when I read it I'm transported back to the beginning of scientific study, just like when I read Plato I'm taken back to the beginning of written rational thought. Somehow it's reassuring. It's as if there really was a beginning to knowledge; that knowledge is finite; there is something quantifiable to learn." I closed the book and studied the cover. "What are the chances there's anyone else in the world reading a copy of this right now?" Anita took the book from me and put it back on her dresser, "I'm not so much reading it, as paging through it." I didn't know why I did it — I certainly hadn't planned to. I stood up and kissed her on the cheek. It was more a push then a punch but the words were clear enough, "GET OUT. GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW." I did, as quickly as I could — I could see from the terror on her face that this wasn't the time for rational talk. XXXXXXX I had no idea what to expect when I dialed the phone the next morning and I had no idea what I was going to say. "Can I have some Chinese food for breakfast?" "Yes." It was warming in the oven when she let me in, the place smelled of it and I felt nauseous. "I've changed my mind. Do you have any eggs?" She left me at the doorway and when she went to the kitchen I sat down on the couch I had vacated less than 12 hours before. "I'm sorry." She was standing in the kitchen doorway with a carton of eggs in her hand. "So am I." "Bit of a disaster wasn't it?" She was studying the egg carton. "What? The food, the conversation or the kiss?" She turned back into the kitchen and I picked up a magazine on construction supplies from the coffee table and paged through it until she called me to the table. "You scared the hell out of me last night," I said, as I tried a tiny morsel of the egg. She was nervously forking her eggs around the plate and said nothing. "I'm a lawyer. Things like that can end up in court." She still hadn't looked up. "Is that why you called?" I was quiet for a moment, "I wanted to apologize, too." While I looked at her, she studied her fork as it pushed at her scrambled eggs. "You shouldn't have to. It was me. I just got scared." "Why? A simple kiss on the cheek. It wasn't like I groped you …" Her fork froze for a moment, "This is all new to me. I'm a nervous wreck. I over-reacted. I'm sorry." "What's new to you?" She took a quick look up at me, smiled awkwardly, then returned to studying her fork. "Everything. You. In this place. Cooking for someone. What you did. Like I said, I don't have a lot of confidence." "Do you want to talk about it?" She got to her feet and went to the stove and scraped her eggs back into the pan. "I want to apologize." I moved beside her and when I tipped my eggs into the pan she laughed. "No, they were fine, I'm just not hungry." I put my plate on the counter and asked, "Can I hold you?" She put her plate on top of mine and poured a glass of water from the tap. "Do you want one?" When I nodded she handed me the full glass, poured another for herself then walked into the living room and sat on the couch. I sat down beside her. "I haven't the first clue of what to do. I have no experience in this. I'm scared." Then she looked up at me and gave me another grimacing smile before looking down at her knees. "I'm fucking terrified." "Do you want me to go?" She took her time answering, as if she was turning the question over in her mind. "No." "Do you want me to hold you?" She didn't say anything, didn't look at me but soon she moved towards me and lay her head against my arm and when she did, I wrapped my arm around her and gently pulled her into me. For the longest time I didn't move, but my mind was frantically working on a question. Should I? Shouldn't I? I finally did. "Was it the acne?" "It isn't fun." "Wasn't." There was a long hesitation and when she looked up at me there was obvious confusion in her eyes. "You don't have it any more." "I have the scars." When I lightly kissed the worst ones, the ones over her left eyebrow. She went rigid for a moment, pulled away a little then thought better of it and moved further into me and in doing so she took hold of my arm and squeezed with both hands. "Why are you doing this?" Her question floated into a long silence. "Do you have a Polaroid?" "A Polaroid? No. A digital. At the office." "Can you get it?" I removed my right arm from her grasp and rolled up my sleeve, "I want to take pictures of this bruising. For the judge." It took a moment for her to understand. She smiled and wrapped her arms lightly around my arm again, pushing her face into my shoulder. "I've made my last apology for the day." Her words were muffled and I used them as an excuse to tilt her face towards me and I kissed her again, lightly, leaving my lips on hers, waiting for her to respond. And she did, but very slowly, pressing her lips just a little into mine. Her eyes were shut, squeezed shut in a tense squint, then as they began to relax I could feel a guttural groan against my lips and she brought her right leg over her left and leaned on me twisting her groin into my leg. Her arms were around me now, pinning my arms to my side in a painful squeeze as she forced herself against my leg. It was over in a few seconds and she collapsed on me, pushing her face into my chest, "Oh, God, I'm sorry." I kissed her hair and chuckled, "I thought you weren't going to say that any more." She moved away, to the other end of the couch and pulled a pillow into her face. She lay like that for almost a minute before she curled herself around her arms in a fetal position, "Please. Will you go?" I was so surprised I didn't move, but she didn't either and she wouldn't look at me so I got up and walked to the door. "Can I see you tomorrow night?" "Family dinner." "I'll see you at class." I left. XXXXXX It's fair to say that I don't really give a shit about anything. I always thought this indifference was because I had no history: an orphan growing up in a series of foster homes doesn't exactly put down roots, and anyway, I never had the time to care, I had always been far too busy doing. My 80 hour weeks now are almost a relief from the 100 hour weeks of working and studying my way through college. So I didn't really care about the consequences. I just knocked on the damn door as if I'd been invited. "I'm a friend of Anita's." The guy looked like Sonny in the Godfather. He just stood there staring at me so my first thought was that I had the wrong house. "She's here?" Sonny nodded but didn't move. "I'd like to see her," I said, surprised at my insistence. He seemed to consider the statement for a moment before standing aside. The foyer was large and brightly lit with some very interesting woodwork, which I didn't get a chance to study because Sonny said, "Down there to the end." I descended the nearby stairs and followed a long hallway that ended in a large family room. About 10 kids of varying ages from about two to ten were seated on the floor, their eyes locked on her. Her voice was very masculine for a moment, then quickly feminine, then a child's. Her story was about a family living on Sampans in a Chinese harbour and I quickly became as lost in it as the kids when I heard the tiny voice say, "Who's he?" Her shock was obvious. It took her a moment to put the book down and get up. She was a few feet from me when she asked in a confused, anxious voice, "What are you doing here?" "Didn't you invite me?" Her eyes left mine for the person walking up behind me. "Ah, dad, this is Jim. I invited him tonight and … ah, I guess he's a little late." I turned around to see an older version of Sonny but bigger and meaner looking. I stuck out my hand, "Sorry, I'm late, sir." The man didn't take my hand, at least not immediately. He studied me briefly then searched his daughter's eyes for meaning, then, finally, he took the hand that was frozen in place between us. "Tony Frank." "Jim Carthage." He looked again at his daughter then looked back at me, "You're unexpected," he hesitated for a moment and added, "but welcome and just in time." He clapped his hands loudly, "Dinner's ready, kids," then he turned and led the pack of us down the hallway. I deliberately mixed myself in with the kids so I didn't have to answer Anita's questions and with everyone else I was herded into a Great Hall where the young were sorted to one end of the long table and the adults to the other, me to stand behind my chair beside Sonny. I waited with everyone else while an old lady was helped into the room and when she was seated we all sat down. The table was about 20 feet long and five feet wide. Anita sat across from me and about four places to my right. I don't have many rules in life but I do have one: when I walk into a meeting or a bar or a restaurant, I make bloody sure I sit in a place that offers the best chance for entertainment and enjoyment. Here, I was sitting in the wrong seat. The one I wanted was occupied by a man about Anita's age who could have been her brother. Over the din of competing voices I spoke to him, and when I did, the room fell silent. "Look, do you mind switching seats? I'd feel a whole lot more comfortable being beside the one who invited me." The son looked at the father who sat still for a long, tense moment before nodding ever so slightly. We got up together and I patted him on the shoulder as we passed. I was pretty much ignored for the entire meal, even by Anita who seemed to focus on a plate that she never touched. It was OK by me. It was mainly family talk so I didn't have anything to contribute anyway. But it surprised me. Even as awkward as it was, I liked being there, I liked being among a large family who obviously cared for each other. It was an entirely new experience for me. A good one. "I thought you said you're a lawyer?" It was Sonny's voice. I had left with the others and was approaching my car. "I am." He motioned to my wheels. I drive a 1976 beaten and battered Volkswagen. "Long story," I said, but it isn't. I'm 32 years old, I've been a corporate lawyer for 7 almost 8 years, I live in a rooming house with a washroom down the hall, my wardrobe consists of one suit and a couple of cheap jackets — and I have a pretty good whack of dough in the bank. I followed Anita home and we walked up to her apartment together. "Why?" she asked, as she put the key in the lock. I answered when we went inside. "Are you sorry I came?" She took her jacket off and hung it up. She didn't look at me. She walked across to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and sipped at it. "Are you sorry I came," I repeated, still standing by the door. "What are you doing?" She seemed a little angry. She put the glass down and slumped over the sink, almost like she was going to be sick. Luckily, this morning I had worked out my answer to that very question — but I had no sense that I'd be needing it so soon. But, under the circumstances, I didn't see where I had much choice so I went for it, and for her. I walked to the kitchen, put my hands on her shoulders, absorbed her sudden flinch and said, "I have something I want to talk to you about and, I guess, the time has come. Will you come and sit down?" She looked confused and scared as I led her over to the couch and when she sat down I made certain I sat as far away from her on the couch as I could. This wasn't the time to be physically threatening. I hadn't worked out exactly what I was going to say — as I said, I had no sense that I was going to have to say it so soon. And anyway, this wasn't a message I wanted to script. But I knew the gist of it: "You don't know me and I don't know you. But I want you." With this, her head jerked up and she searched my eyes for meaning, but just for a second, then she went back to studying her knees. "Please listen to me. Let me get this out. It's not easy and it's probably not going to make any sense to you. But I want to say it. Will you listen?" She didn't say anything. "Will you listen?" "Why are you doing this?" The voice was of a lonely child. I persisted, "Will you listen?" She waited a long time before saying, "Yes." "Just listen, that's all I ask." I went slowly. "I think I've told you I'm an orphan, an orphan almost from birth. I grew up living in foster homes. I've never belonged. Not once. Never. Not in homes, not in schools, not at work. But that's OK, I've done alright. I'm sane, reasonably balanced and I've worked hard and become successful. Terrific, except for one thing: my entire life has been about me, and only me. I'm not only the centre of my world, I am my entire world." I paused for dramatic affect. "The time has come for that to change, as I always knew it would. The time has come for a radical restructuring of my life." Here was my punch line, this I had practiced. "I want to give myself to you and I want to take you in return." When she looked up at me her face was a mask of confusion, as if I hadn't made a whiff of sense. "What are you talking about?" I got up and walked to the door. "I'm talking about giving you everything I have. Me. And I'm taking about taking everything you have. You. I want to belong. I want to belong to you. And I want you to belong to me. I'll come and see you tomorrow." Anita & Me: A Story I knew it was a coward's way out, to spring the thought on her then bugger off, but I also knew she needed time to think about my words, and I knew I couldn't rationally explain them to her, not if she thought I had ulterior motives. I gave her 23 hours to the minute. "Hi," I said, as she opened the door. She smiled wanly, turned and walked to the only easy chair in the living room and sat down. I took the open door as an invitation to enter and I sat on the couch. As usual, she was studying her knees when I spoke. "Did you think about what I said?" She didn't look up. "Of course I did." "And?" "And what? You want me to belong to you?" She looked up now, searching my face for meaning. "Well, only as a quid pro quo. Only after I belong to you." "I have no idea what you're talking about. You make it sound like some religious cult thing. How can you belong to me? How can I belong to you? You don't make any sense." "I make perfect sense … to me. I need to belong to someone. I need to belong absolutely to someone. I want that person to be you. But there's a problem with that. I can give myself to you, but that's just a kind of bondage, a kind of slavery, so I have to take as much as I give. So in giving me, I must have you. I must own you in return for you owning. It's simple." She uttered her words to the floor. "Can't we just see each other for awhile, see if we like each other, see if we get along and then go from there?" She looked at me. "Like everybody else does." "Sure we can, and we will, if that's what you want. I'm just telling you what I want." "But why? I still don't get it." "Can I show you?" "Show me?" "Yes, come over and sit down here," I tapped a place in the middle of the couch. She thought about it for a moment then did as I requested. I waited for her to settle and then I reached over and when I touched her on the thigh she jumped. "That's why. I don't want to be the one to have to help you come to terms with yourself. You have to do that for yourself. But I'd like to make it a whole lot easier for you and easier for me, too. I need you, I know that, and I want you. I think you need me, too. You just don't want me yet." I got to my feet and walked to the door. "I'll see you at modeling." I had already opened the door when she spoke. "You're wrong. I do want you." She said the words to her knees, then she looked up, "I just don't know how to give myself to you." "Think about it," I said, as I left. I arrived at modeling class right on time and took my usual place. She wasn't there but that didn't bother me much because she never seemed to arrive on time. I was taking off my jacket when the hand took me by the arm. "I think I get it. Let's go." I turned, looked at her, mumbled an apology to the class and followed her out of the room. We walked wordlessly to the parking lot, got in our cars and I followed her home. I was at the door when she put the key in the lock and when we walked inside she took off her coat, threw it on a chair, walked to the bedroom, climbed on her bed and sat in the middle with her legs crossed and her wrists on her knees in a kind of meditating position. When I sat down on the bed she asked, "How do you want to do this?" When I hesitated — I wasn't sure I knew precisely what she meant, she elaborated. "The hand over. How do you want to do it?" "The hand over?" "I'm giving myself to you. How do you want me to do it?" I think in my dreams I saw this moment as a mutual surrender. We would embrace and in the physical contact, really our first, we would be transported physically into the other's life with such totality that a future together would be absolutely assured. To me this as to be the moment of absolutely honest commitment — but not a union in the marriage sense, where two people give of themselves to create a joint life together. No. I wanted much more than that. I didn't want to create a future together. I wanted to take her entire life and I want her to take mine. By giving myself to her, I could thereby take her, take her past, her present and her future. It would be mine. Absolutely mine. The way I had it figured, my life, wrapped up entirely in myself, would instantly acquire meaning. In return, she would take me and my life. How can we do this? The only way possible. We would take each other's bodies. That's what I told her. "Yes, I figured that much out. That's why we're here. So do you take it or do I give it? How do you want to enact the transaction?" This wasn't working out as I had planned. I felt a little like I was being diddled, like she was mocking me. I saw our ultimate surrender in a veil of tears and passion and promises of commitment. Not pragmatically. Not like this. "You're being a little cold blooded, aren't you? A little … ah, sacrificial?" She sat in the same position, she hadn't moved. "I'm not leaning on a lot of experience here." Lying in my bed, I had studied her face many times at night, always seeing it from a different angle, looking for every hint of meaning. When I studied it again now, I realized it was the first time I had ever really looked at her, studied the reality and not my late-night impressions. Her's is a serious face, with wide intelligent eyes, grey and penetrating under thick eyebrows, her nose is prominent, her lips thin and she has a strong determined jaw. It is a no-nonsense face that would have been pretty were it not for the scars. Her body? She was a little taller then medium and strong, that's the only word you could use for it. It was the body of a construction worker, trim and wide with big breasts. Her body radiated strength while her psyche seemed as fragile as a girl's. It surprised me when she pushed me down on the bed and it surprised me when she pulled my legs up and leaned over me. She kissed me lightly on the lips, "Are you absolutely sure you want me?" "Are you absolutely sure you want me?" "I asked you first." "Yes, absolutely." "Me, too." She sat up. "So you're mine?" "Yes," I said, looking up at her, feeling a surge of passion I had never felt before. When I struggled to sit up, she pushed me down but she didn't take her hands from me, instead she dragged her fingers lightly over my chest as if she was reading Braille. It was an odd sensation, a little spooky and her face appeared to almost pinch in concentration while she seemed to be trying to read the message from her finger tips, like you do on a Ouija board. Her fingers were on my face now and she was smiling a little, "Are you uncomfortable?" I thought about the word for a moment, then shifted in to her, pushing my face, as it turned out, into the top of her left foot. "No," I said, and I turned on my side and curled myself around her. Her hands didn't leave me, they moved lightly up and down my arm, then onto my shoulder. It was when her fingers dug into my hair that I started to cry. I don't know where it came from, it was as if my tears just percolated deep from within me. I didn't think I knew how to cry, I couldn't remember ever having done it before, not even as a kid, but it appeared I was pretty good at it. I shook and I sobbed and for the longest time she just continued to caress me, as if she wanted all the tears to come out. Then she lay down beside me and held me, held me in her powerful arms, squeezed me into her as if she was trying to protect me from my devils. And I let her. I surrendered totally to her. I was lost but she made me feel safe. She made me feel unconscious of everything but the warm cocoon of her embrace. When I stopped sobbing she let me go and sat up, and when I tried to sit up, too — I had some apologizing to do, she pushed me down and started to undo the buttons on my shirt. I watched her, wanting to wipe my eyes and, most of all, wanting to blow the snot from my nose, but I couldn't move, I was absolutely still beneath her fingers. When the buttons were undone, she went to my belt and undid that, then the top button on my pants and when she undid my zipper, she rested her hand on the erection beneath my underwear. I didn't even know I had an erection. Up ‘til now, none of this had been sexual to me, it had been something entirely different, something that would take me a long time to figure out, but now was not the time. I helped her take off my shirt and I watched her as she took off my pants and underwear and then my socks. She did it all very slowly, almost like she was changing a child and when she finished she got on her knees, leaned over and gently kissed me on the lips, but just for a moment and then she began. It was as thorough a job as I could imagine. With little sucking kisses she moved all over my face and then she went south, to my neck, then all over my chest, my stomach, my thighs, my knees, my shins, my feet. Then she turned me over and continued, from my feet, up my calfs, to the backs of my legs and then she nuzzled and bit lightly into that warm soft place beneath my cheeks and then she kissed and bit lightly all over my ass before continuing up my back, past my neck to the top of my head. Once there, she turned me over and I watched in awe as this woman who would flinch when I touched her, took my penis her mouth, cupped my balls and sucked lightly. It wasn't the passion that caused it. It was the realization that this was the final act of her exploration of me. It was the realization that in her mind she now possessed me, that's why I spasmed my cum into her mouth — it just shot through me in a bolt of understanding: this woman that I barely knew had possessed me, and I had surrendered, I had surrendered more totally then I could have imagined and I knew in that instant that I was hers, I had given myself away — she had taken me. She was sitting back on her heels now, surveying me with that same serious, contemplative face but when she looked in my eyes she smiled and her relief couldn't have been more obvious. She had done it and she was proud of herself, it was written all over her face. I had offered myself to her, she had thought about it, decided and then taken me in body, mine and spirit. I don't know why, but I felt proud of her too, proud that she had performed so beautifully. But I was a little scared also. My giving had been the easy part. I wanted that with every fiber in my being. But did she want to be taken? She let me sit up this time, as if her rite was over. Now it was my turn. My way to action has always been through words. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to possess her through logic, I wanted my possession to be intellectual. But I couldn't think of anything to say, so I helped her onto her back and used her own words. "Don't you ever wonder what a person's body looks like under her sweater?" She recognized her words instantly and groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Whether they have tattoos or birthmarks or scars. How much fat. Whether it's an in-ie or an out-ie. The body tells so much about a person, don't you think?" I was on my knees, leaning over her and when I touched her on the stomach I waited for a flinch. I didn't get one, instead, she took the touch as the start of a ritual and she put her hands down on the bed by her sides and looked up at me, "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking I want to possess you as totally as you possessed me." She smiled again, "That's going to be really easy. I'm as willing to go as you were." "Really?" It happened in an impossible instance. She was lying on her back looking at me one moment and in the next she was curled around her arms bucking at them, moaning as if she was crying, as I had. But it was over much quicker and when she turned on her back again her hands were over her face. "Oh, God, I'm so embarrassed." When she looked up at me there were tears in her eyes and by the time I realized what had happened, and that her tears were from laughter, she was in my arms, holding me, squeezing me like she did before, and she shook. I let her cling to me until she stopped shaking, stopped laughing, then I helped her to lie down. "You must have needed that." Her face was serious again. "No one has ever wanted me and I have never wanted anyone." "Until now?" "Until now." I quickly lay down beside her and pulled her to me and just held her, held her for the longest time as I tried to thoroughly plan my strategy. But, I guess, I waited a little too long for suddenly she jumped off the bed, tore off her clothes and stood before me naked. "Look! Here's what you get, OK? Now take it, take every fucking nook and cranny of it and let's get on with life. I have plans for us." I had a pretty good idea she had a fantastic body, I had imagined it every night for the past month or so, but I had no idea it would be this good. It was as strong as I thought it would be, maybe stronger. But her tits were much better, they were so soft, even a little droopy against her taunt chest and she had just the hint of a rounded belly that somehow made her look really sexy, really fertile. And her bush was neatly trimmed as if she had prepared for this moment. It took me awhile to take it all in. It's hard to explain, but I wasn't in a hurry to touch her, I wanted to study her, but when my eyes reached hers I could see impatience, and maybe a hint of anger, so I reached out and helped her onto the bed. My plan, hastily made up, was to do to her what she had done to me. It was so perfect, so ritualistic, but I didn't get the chance. Almost as soon as she was on her back she pulled me to her, pulled me onto her and pushed me into her. I felt the hymen, or at least I think I did, but I was through it in a second and in a few more our moans collided and I collapsed onto her, utterly spent. That's when the words repeated themselves. "You have plans for us?" My voice sounded weak and full of curiosity. It didn't seem to be mine. "Are you done with me?" I rose up and looked at her, "You haven't given me a chance. No, I'm not done with you." "Good," she said, and as she wrapped her arms around me she wiggled her pussy into me. I broke free, slid off her and sat up, "Do you mind if I lead for a bit. I mean, what's going to happen when we dance?" "I don't know how to dance." "Well, nor do I but you know what I mean." "Do I? I don't know how to do this, either, but I'm doing it." I thought the words were a little threatening until I saw her sheepish grin. "Just because you're stronger then me …" She pushed at me, "I am not." I poked her, in the stomach, on the thigh, on the shoulder. "You are so. Look at you, you a slab of fucking Grade A, grain-fed sirloin. You look like you take steroids for breakfast." "I do not." "Do you work in your father's office or in his cement works?" I was really getting into this, I had a whole roster of one-lines queued up and ready to fire but the fun had left her eyes and she was turning way from me. I stopped her. "I'm just kidding. You know that." "Do you want me?" "Of course I want you, I've told you that, it's what started all of this." "But that was before you saw me." It's odd how such a fragile ego can lurk in such a strong body, about as odd as a women who could lectured about what lay beneath a sweater, then blush for weeks about the suggestion. I shimmied over and put her head in my lap. "That thing sticking into the back of your neck offers some evidence." When she turned and kissed me on the stomach I took her left breast in my hand. "They're beautiful." She pushed her face further into my stomach and I could see she was squirming a little so I brought her up to a semi-sitting position and my hand left her breast for her pussy. She moaned lightly, moving slightly on my fingers then put her lips on mine. "I love this, Jim, I just so totally love this." Then she lay down and sprawled over me with her ass in my lap. I felt like I was some kind of altar to a fertility goddess, it was really erotic. When I took my right hand fingers from her pussy and gently replaced them with my left, she smiled at me, and when I cupped her left breast with my sticky fingers she placed her hand over mine and caressed it softly. "And to think a few days ago you jumped when I touched you." "I didn't believe you wanted me." She smiled, "When you said you did, giving myself to you was never going to be a problem." I brought my hand out of her pussy and rubbed on the slight swell of her belly. Not hard, but not gently either, this didn't seem the kind of body that liked nuances. I rolled her off me and when she lay face down on the bed I lay on top of her then rolled us both sideways so that my penis was between her legs and my arms were around her, one hand on a breast, the other caressing her stomach. We lay like that for awhile, then she asked, "Why did you cry?" "I don't know," I said, kissing her back. "It just came out. Sorry." "That's when I knew you really wanted me. I didn't before, or I wasn't sure." She hesitated for a moment, "Why haven't you looked at me?" I rose up on my elbow to try to read her face, or the side of it at least, "Looked at you? I have." "No, looked at me, like I looked at you." I pushed her away so she was lying face down again, "Ohhh, you mean inspected you, like to see what I'm getting." "Yes," her voice was weak and expectant. I did as directed. Her body was white, totally devoid of a tan, meaning she had seriously cheated a lot of eyes. Her shoulders were wide and thick and muscular and they tapered into a narrow waist that stood rock solid on wide rounded hips. She had a beauty ass, as tight and strong as the rest of her but really feminine, too. I kissed it a few timed, just to get the feel of it. Then I looked at her legs, which were probably the most shapely part of a shapely body. "Well?" I turned her over, "Don't hurry me. You took your time with me, let me take some time with you." I spent a little more time on her tits then I had before. I've already said they are beauties. "What are they called, arials?" "These? Areolas." She lifted up a breast and thumped the part around the nipple. "They're oval. I thought they're supposed to be round." "Obviously, God screwed up …" "No, no, no, I was surprised, that's all, they're really beautiful, really exotic, I love them." I said the words and I meant them but I was making a mental note when I did: no more critical comments. To quickly change the subject I put my fingers on the hair of her pussy. It was thick but trimmed as if she was accustomed to wearing a bikini, which I had no doubt she wasn't. I put my face in it, smelled it, kissed it, "this is wonderful." "There was a lot more of it two days ago." She waited for a moment. "Should I cut it off?" Her smell intoxicated me, I hadn't expected that. I lay down beside her, wrapped my hands around her strong legs, grabbing her cheeks and pushed my face into her pussy. I lay like that for awhile, just breathing her in, feeling her stiff hair against my face, reveling at the intimacy when I felt her hands on my back, they were massaging me, hard and it took me awhile to realizes that she was encouraging me to go further down, so I did and she opened her legs in welcome. This was new to me. I had had sex a number of times before but never intimate sex, never sex when I cared about the body, or the person for that matter. This was an entirely different deal. The woman coaxing me into her pussy wanted me there, wanted me to know her. You think about things differently when they're yours. She began to moan when I stuck my tongue into her, she was moaning and pushing at me when I took her clitoris in my lips and when I sucked on it, just a little, she began to buck at my face and a few moments after that she had somehow turned me on my back and was riding my face like a cowgirl, howling as if encouraging her horse. I have to admit it made me a little scared. And a little wet, too. When she came she must have lost five pounds in fluids, salty, fishy fluids and I lay there a little stunned by it all, watching the beautiful ass run to the bathroom. Anita & Me: A Story She was back in seconds, wiping my face with a wet towel. "Maybe you're getting to know me a little too well." "What was that?" I wasn't at all sure what happened. She shrugged, "It just came out." I looked at her with real curiosity, "You're really into this, aren't you." She made it sound like an entirely stupid statement, "Well, ya, I'm really into this. I've waited half my life for it — and I've finally found the guy to do it with, the only guy I'm ever going to do this with. So, ya, I'd say I'm into it and between you and me, no pun intended, it's been worth the wait." She threw the towel aside. "So what's next?" "Do you have any fetishes?" I meant it as a joke. "I hope so. Do you want something to drink? To eat?" I laughed and she didn't get it at first, then she laughed, "Something else to eat?" "A beer would be refreshing." I used silly words like that when I get giddy with happiness. I followed the ass into the kitchen and watched it bend a little as her hands fetched two beers from the bottom shelf of the fridge. She handed me one of them then she quickly twisted the cap off hers, leaned against the counter and let half of it slide down her throat. I took a chair, sat back and sipped mine. "I'm having a hard time adjusting to the new you. Where is the girl who wouldn't let me touch her?" She was looking at me coolly. "Do you want her back?" "No, but I'd like to see her now and again." "Now?" "No." "So, do we belong to each other now? Me to you and you to me." I saluted her with my bottle. "It's official. I'm yours, you're mine. Here's to a great life together." "Do you feel any different?" I nodded, "Yes, very." "How?" "I can see when you take someone you really take them. And I can see that when you give yourself, you really give yourself. But I can see, too, that you're going to require a whole lot of my effort." She had just polished off her beer, "It gets worse." "Worse?" I was just about to sip my beer when I stopped. "How?" "I've got five brothers. You're not going anywhere." She said this with a smile. "You aren't going to need them, sweets. I guarantee you that, you're never going to need them." "Another?" This time I watched her magnificent tits dangle as she reached into the fridge again. She pulled out two more, handed them to me then reached into the cupboard and fished out a bottle of wine and two glass. "The corkscrew's in there," she said, eyeing a drawer, then she hurried out of the kitchen. She had the bed stripped when I reached the bedroom and I helped her remake it. It was the first domestic chore I had ever done with a woman and I found it really erotic, first because of her swing breasts but mainly because we were making a bed for us to lie in together, we were making our nest. "You have a really beautiful body." "The acne stopped at my chin." "That's not funny." "I know. Sorry." She kneeled on the bed. "Do you think about it a lot?" "The acne?" She didn't wait for my answer. "No, not really. In the world I've created it doesn't much matter." "The world of blue jeans, construction sites and 80 hour work weeks?" She took a drink of her beer, "That's the one." "But when you're out of that world, it does?" "I don't leave it." "You going to have to now." "That's what I want to talk to you about. Lie down." When I lay down in front of her she took my stiff penis in her hands as if she had done it hundreds of times before, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to her. She absently fondled it for a minute while she thought. She let it go when she spoke. "What are we going to do?" "Do?" She had a habit of jump-shifting conversations that I often had a hard time following. "You're not happy in your job and you're said you're thinking of quitting. I've never planned to stay in mine. What are we going to do? And where are we going to do it?" "What do you want to do?" I asked. "I've been saving my money. I've always planned to go back to school. Get a Masters, maybe a Doctorate." "Fine by me. I was thinking the same thing, maybe Criminology." I lifted my can of beer in a second salute, "School it is. Are we going to get married?" "Of course. I'll look after all of that — I have a hundred people to help me." Then, she added thoughtfully, "Once they get over the shock." "Might I make the observation that you appear a tad cool about all of this?" "Who did you think you were getting?" "Well the girl I remember was a little more indecisive. When I gave myself and took you I kind of assumed I'd have a little more say in things. Twenty minutes after the transaction I've gotta say, I'm a little surprised." "And unhappy?" "No, not unhappy." "Do you know why you're not unhappy?" She didn't wait for me to respond. "It's because I think you know that I know what I'm doing. And I should. I have watched my brother's wives plan and strategize for all my adult life. I think I know what decisions to take and what decisions to leave to you." "The important ones and leave me the rest?" She just smiled. And I smiled, too. "So there we have it. The Transaction, marriage, students. It all makes perfect sense to me. Where are we going to school, where are we going to live?" "Leave that to me." I felt the cold beer can in my hand so I lifted it in another quiet salute and I pulled myself upwards and guzzled the contents. She did the same and then began opening the wine. "We have a lot to celebrate." We did, indeed. But I had one more thing on my mind and it wasn't an afterthought, it had always been integral to the whole she-bang. "What exactly do you think we are celebrating?" She filled up the wine glasses and, as I sat up and leaned against the backboard, she handed me a glass and leaned back beside me. She couldn't have been more natural, more uninhibited. Her legs were open with her left knee bent and leaning on my leg and her breasts spilled from her chest with exquisite, erotic carelessness. It was as if now that she had given herself to me she had nothing to hide. "You can celebrate the Transaction is you want. Me? I'm a little more old fashion. I'm celebrating love." I quit my job the next day, but it wasn't quite that easy. I had to give them six weeks of my time, six weeks of unending days and travel. I didn't see her again, not for six weeks. I phoned, often, but the conversations were always forced and uneasy — and frustrating. We were both counting the days until we would be together again. That day was a Saturday and as luck would have it, the day of the month when the family rallied at the father's house for dinner. I got into town in early evening and took a cab directly to the house. Sonny let me in again, this time without much hassle but without any enthusiasm, either and I followed him into the living room where everyone was milling around with glasses. I guessed all the kids were downstairs. Anita was with a klatch of women and when she spotted me her face broke into a wide smile that surprised the others and they followed her eyes to me. She had quietly disengaged from them and came towards me. But she stopped well short of me. "Hi." I didn't know what I expected when the door of the house opened. I know what I hoped for. I hoped that Sonny et al would grab me by the hand, stick a cigar in my mouth, a glass in my hand and thump me on the back. I hoped that when the door opened I would be pulled into the warm nexus of the family in a cosmic force of love. Instead, I'd been met with the same indifference as before and Anita appeared monumentally under-whelmed by my presence, at least compared to my expectations — we we're to be married for crissake. She could see I was troubled. "I forgot to mention a small detail." She wanted me to bite on the tease but I was a little too pissed off for that, and a lot too horny and when I said nothing, she waited a moment before saying, quite cryptically, "You have to ask permission." "Permission? Permission for what?" I had no idea what she was talking about, but she seemed softer now, more empathetic, kinder to me, so I was feeling a little bit better. "To marry me." This didn't advance my understanding, "You already agreed." "Yes, but you have to ask my father." "Your father? Why?" "Because that's the way it's done here." "You're kidding." I'd heard of this, of course — in medieval studies but this could hardly be part of the dating rituals in 21st century America. But she assured me it was so I shrugged and I was just about to go looking for Big John when he clapped his hands and herded us into the dining room. The deal was the same. The old lady came in last and was helped into her chair then we all sat down, me on the right of Anita, like before, but as soon as I was settled it occurred to me that the old man was two chairs away from me, too far for a decent conversation so I asked Anita to trade seats. The Anita I left the last time I saw her was naked, covered with her own juices and some of mine, determined, passionate and in love — and in absolutely complete control of her life and mine. The Anita beside me now looked up at me with child-like eyes and told me to ‘shoosh.' Shoosh, be damned. He was talking to a woman to his left when I leaned across Anita. "Mr. Frank," I looked at the woman I was interrupting, "Excuse me." He looked at me, a little annoyed and, at the same time, he seemed to be trying to place me, as if he had seen me somewhere before but couldn't remember where. "I want to marry your daughter." The chit chat at the table stopped the moment I spoke the words so the whole table heard me. As if to make my request more emphatic, I leaned closer to him and in doing so shouldered Anita even further back in her chair. This wouldn't have been a problem if he had said, ‘sure, welcome to the family, Jimmy-boy'. I could have nodded my thanks, sat back and maybe taken Anita's hand and kissed her on the cheek. Something like that. But no. He just stared at me as if I had defamed the family and, leaning as far forward as I was I quickly felt awkward, then a little stupid. This guy had never been part of the equation, never been part of the transaction. Clearly, I didn't know how to deal with him and if there was any doubt about this my next comment, born of my ignorance of the niceties of this situation, but also, of my quickly growing physical discomfort, removed it. "I'm hanging out here for your answer." He shot out of his chair in a rage and threw his napkin on his plate. "Commeer," he said, as he rushed by behind me. I was pitched so far forward I had to push myself from the table to sit back up in my chair and when I did I stood up, looked at Anita, who found her plate far more interesting then me, then I cast a glance around the table of ashen manikins and went in search of my fate. I was in the hall when I heard the words, "In here." It was a large, impressive study, one of wood and book cases and a globe you could spin, like Inspector Clouseau's. And I noticed a full rifle rack and a plaque on the wall with two large golden boxing gloves on it. "What the hell are you doing?" "I'm asking to marry your daughter." "Who are you?" I walked over and studied the Golden Glove plaque. It had his name on it. "I'm talking to you. What are you doing?" He almost shouted the words. "I'm waiting." "Waiting? What the hell for?" "For you to give me an answer to my proposal or at least to calm down so we can discuss it. I'd rather have the one, but under the circumstances, I'd settle for a moment for the other." I continued to study the plaque. I couldn't see it of course, I was far too nervous for that, but I pretended to and my pretense was wearing thin, even on me, when I heard him say, "OK." I knew he was saying OK to calming down, his voice said as much, but I made as if he was saying OK to the marriage. I turned and hurried towards him with my hand out. "Thank you, sir, I will make her …" He shot out of his chair for the second time in almost as many minutes waving his hands like a referee waving off an incompleted pass. I stopped, pretending to be surprised, then sat in the chair in front of his desk, where he pointed. "Who are you?" I told him. I took my time and I told him, and as I did, it occurred to me that he had every right to know. I was about half way through, maybe 15 minutes into it, when he got up and poured himself a drink and I nodded when he motioned if I wanted one. I was three quarters through when he pulled from the desk a box of cigars and we fired up off the same match. I was sitting back in the chair, a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other, when I finished. I was ready for his questions but I wasn't going to take any shit from the guy, and I was going to marry his daughter, whatever he said. He just looked at me, appraising me, like he was hiring an employee, then he stood up and left the room and when he did, I poured myself another drink. I had just regained my chair when they came in together, Anita, followed by the patriarch. I stood up and noticed that she didn't come to me, instead, she moved off to the side as if Big John was the referee and she was taking a neutral corner in a prize fight. There was no doubt that I was the one being battered here, but there was also no doubt in my mind that there'd be no TKO here tonight. If I was to go down, I would be going down swinging. His one-word question broke a long silence, "Well?" "Well what?" The words blurted out of my mouth, I was confused, pissed off and feeling really defensive. Was it such a long-shot that I could marry his daughter? Fuck him. I spoke to her, "I've fallen in love with your daughter, I've courted your daughter, I've asked your daughter to marry me, your daughter said yes, I thought it was a done deal, now your daughter tells me I need your permission, I've asked, I'm waiting, and, oh, by the way, I'm wondering why your daughter isn't in my arms right now convincing you she wants nothing more then to be with me and begging you to make it happen." "I was wondering the same thing." I don't know what it was about this girl. She'd positively kick ass one moment and cringe the next. I was pretty sure it was Freudian, I couldn't imagine her cringing in supplication in front of me, but in front of her father, that was another thing. "I want to marry him, dad." She said the words to the floor. "OK, give me a few minutes then come back to the dinning room." He left without shaking my hand, so I wasn't sure what the OK meant. My cigar had gone out. I went to his desk, relit it, took my glass, sat back in the chair and put my feet on his desk. "I may be the only one in this fucking house who's happy about this but I am, and god damn it, I'm going to celebrate." She came up behind me and leaned into me so the back of my head pressed against her stomach and her tits seemed to rest on top of my head. "My family loves me, everyone of them, I know that, I've always known that. My mother died when I was in my early teens, that may have cause the acne. Anyway, when it ravaged me, my family circled around me. They protected me — and they haven't really stopped. And I've let them. They have been my fortress against the world. It's hard to break through." "Where's the girl standing nude in her kitchen confidently sucking back her brewskis?" She bent down and kissed my head, then wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed me. "That's your wife. Come on." She tugged me from the chair and I abandoned my cigar and drink with reluctance and she had me by the arm when we walked into the dinning room. Everyone was sitting, stone-faced as if some kind of religious ritual was taking place, but I didn't care. No one, not one of these fucking people was going to stop me from celebrating. I think had the old man's approval, so noth …. I felt the pain first, the fingers digging so deep into my arm that I thought I could feel her fingernails on my arm bone. It was the noise that snapped me out of it, that and the jumping up and down. The stone statues had turned to carnival joy, I mean real joy, tears in the eyes joy, and she had tears in her eye, too, they were streaming down her cheeks in rivers and her face was stretched so wide I almost didn't recognize her. And then she did it, she spun me around and held me in that vice grip of hers and when she did everyone burst into cheers. I could see him over her shoulder. He was looking at her, the big, mean, tough son of a bitch was looking at her with a look of absolute, unmistakable love. It was Sonny who broke her grip, tore me away from her and I was thinking of thanking him when he fucking near broke my ribs with his own hug. I preferred the back slapping, there was a lot of that and a lot of really warm, tight hugs from all the wives. By the time I passed through the gauntlet I was exhausted; by the time I got out of the house I was pissed. Anita took me back to her place, I slept all the way and I could barely remember walking to her door but that was the end of it — until the strobe light shining through the window hit my eyes the next morning. Someone was talking on the phone. It took me a moment to place the voice. It was Anita's but it took some time to figure that out. It didn't sound like her quiet, rational, no-nonsense monotone. This one was bubbling and laughing — and planning. She sounded like an over-excited teenager planning with a friend what to wear to the prom. I stretched out on the bed and my right leg found a wide wet spot where she had been. I pulled the covers back and looked at it, then I got up and walked to the bathroom. When I returned to the bedroom she took the towel from me and I watched her rub the spot, watched her tits flop back and forth as she tried to sop up the … whatever it was. "Did I have anything to do with that?" I lay on the dry side of the bed. "Hardly." "A solo?" "It was the most exciting night of my life. I was ready to explode," she snickered as she jumped on the bed, straddled me and put my prick in her, "I guess I did." "So am I," I pulled her too me, pressed my face into her neck, bucked at her a few times and came so hard I almost passed out. I was useless now and she knew it. She got off me and kneeled beside me, kissing my lips lightly. "He likes you, and so does everyone else." "I thought you were going to hang me out to dry." "Ya well, that was then, this is now." When she pick up my dink, I pushed her hand away. "Seriously, what was all that about." "In that house, with those people …" "… your family …" "… my family, I have always …. No. That's bullshit. The truth is I have always felt ugly, I didn't want to face it, I sought protection, they gave it to me, I played the role of the vulnerable little girl who never emotionally grew up. You've seen her." "I rather liked her." She hit me, "Seriously, that's the way I lived most of my life. But recently I've been trying to break out of that, that's why I wrote what I did in the modeling course. Anyway, look at this. You're here, lying on my wet bed and I'm kneeling here, all tits and pussy. I love you, I've given myself to you, we're going to be married — I have broken out, big time. I told my dad last night that we are going back to school. He's OK with it. That was Stella on the phone, she's already helping me plan the wedding and so are the others." She took my prick in her fingers, kissed it, gave the head a few sucks then looked up at me, "I'm meeting her at her place at 3." When she left for Stella's I went to my rooming house. We had agreed I would stay with her until we made more permanent plans so I wanted to get some clothes. She thought she'd be back by around supper time so I had a couple of hours to kill and took to my bike, something I had planned to do a lot more of now that I had gained an additional 12 hours to my day.