underneath the water.
When I finish bathing, I dipped back down into the water and gave him a kiss on the lips. He enveloped me in his arms and took me under the water with him before lifting us up and stepping out of the tub. He carried me to the bedroom and put me on the bed, where he jumped on top of me like a ravenous animal, nipping at my neck and sucking on my lips. He split my legs apart and rested there.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He pushed my wet hair way from my face.
“Awww, thank you,” I said. I’m never ungrateful when he tells me this.
He kissed me a lot slower, more passionately, our wet bodies sliding against one another until the water left our bodies. He rose up on his arms and positioned himself to enter me, doing so with all of the ease and experience that a 47-year old man has. I held on to his neck as he thrust into me. My legs molded around his lower body; I locked my feet together to trap him.
Here we were, engaged in the horizontal dance that so many before us had done. He kissed me all over my neck and breathed heavily in my ear. I encouraged him with my moans and the gentle rocking of my hips. I watched as a sly lusty grin formed on his face. I knew what that meant.
He quickened his pace. One of my legs went up onto his shoulders. His voice turned into a low gravely growl, betraying his past smoking addiction. His rough thumb found my clit and began rubbing it in circles. “Does that feel good? Do you like that shit?”
I cried out loudly, shuddering underneath his touch. He pounded into me harder and a sheen of sweat began to cover his body. I writhed underneath him, sweat forming on me as well. He grabbed my other leg and started to fuck me silly. I whimpered like a child underneath him until he stiffened up and groaned into my hair. His thumb hovered over my clit until he finished coming. He rubbed me slowly and kissed me until I came as well, and held on to me, saying, “You’re so pretty when you come,” as I came down from the heavens.
Sleep overtook me, and when I woke up, he was still asleep, his arm over my body. I climbed from underneath him and went to the bathroom. I took a shower and put on some workout clothing to go for a run.
The sun had not yet set, but it was still very warm outside. I slipped my ear buds into my ear and let the sound of my music wash over me as I broke into a light sprint. I ran to the beat of the song that was playing before I stopped paying attention to the sound. Kids were outside playing — a rare site in these times, as most kids would rather spend the day inside with their video games.
I took my usual route, a three mile trek that ran along a little creek, a park and an open field before circling back around to the house that I lived in.
During the run I thought about how fortunate I am to live in a house at my age. My parents didn’t. They still don’t.
***
March, 2001
My mother drove up in a battered Toyota Tercel; we had no idea where they got it from and no desire to ask them. I was sitting at the dining room table doing my homework and I heard her before she even got to the door. “Where are my children?” she yelled, followed by the sound of the car door slamming shut. I inhaled sharply. My grandmother met her at the door, “What do you want Sarah?”
“I came to see my children,” she said.
“The twins aren’t here and Christina is doing her homework.” Grandma folded her arms across her chest.
“Can I say hello to Christina then?”
Grandma called for me and I reluctantly went to the door. I put on the best smile I could and hugged her and let her fuss over me like a mother who hasn’t seen their child in a few weeks should.
“How’s school, how’s middle school treating you, kid?”
“It’s fine,” I said.
“That’s good. Any cute boys?”
“Sarah!” Grandma grew protective.
“No, no boys,” I said while shaking my head.
“That’s okay. Well, um, I guess I’ll be heading back home then. We got a place on the west side now.”
“Bye mom. I’ll tell Matthew and Marcia you were here.”
“And I’ll tell your father you all said hello.” I saw sadness in my mother’s eyes as she turned to leave in the beat up old car. And for the first time, I felt a little sorry for her.
***
What happened with my parents is that they were madly in love with one another and got addicted to that love. Addiction, even to something as intangible and abstract as love, can lead you to do crazy things. My parents needed to fight, needed to yell and break stuff and have their entire families disavow them to keep the spark that so often dies alive. Matthew once told me that he walked in on them arguing one day, and went to his room only to find them in theirs fucking ten minutes later.
They wanted to be normal like everyone else, but they couldn’t, not even to the children that depended on them the most.
It was that type of upbringing that made my stance on love so hard. I never wanted anyone to do that to me. I never wanted to find a person that would drive me to such insanity. I resolved from an early age never to fall in love.
I went through adolescence hiding myself and my budding body from the eyes of little boys and grown men who promised me a world they didn’t have if I would just love them (whether for an eternity or three minutes under the bleachers). I would have none of it. I couldn’t relate to any of my girlfriends because while they talked of kissing boys and all of the fun that they had on their Saturday night dates, I had no stories of my own, lest I took the risk and fell in love with someone.
I didn’t want to lose such a big part of me. Not to love and not to another person.
***
April, 2007
This is is why I like my arrangement with Andrew; I met him a month prior to my high school graduation. I didn’t have much prospects — community college for two years before transferring to a university and getting a respectable career with long hours to keep me away from the impending loneliness I was imposing on myself. I worked a part time job at the mall (the only place that would hire someone with no experience at the time) to have some money in my pocket and potentially move out — but I found that with every paycheck, no matter how much I saved, I was no closer to leaving.
He came into the store on a day that I was set to get off early, obviously looking for something, but I couldn’t guess as to what this old guy could be looking for, seeing that he specifically was in the women’s shoe section.
“I’m looking for some shoes,” he said.
I wasn’t taken by him, and immediately went into saleswoman mode. “You’re definitely in the right place. Do you want a pump, stiletto, flats?”
“Pumps, I like pumps. And stilettos,” he said.
I took him over to the pumps first. “What size are you looking for?”
“Hmm…. about…” He looked down at my feet. “Like yours. What size do you wear?”
“I wear an 8,” I said.
“Yeah, a size 8.”
I pulled a shoe off of the shelf — a nude colored pump, 6 inch heel.
“I don’t like that color,” he said. “Do you have something a bit neon?”
I showed him a neon yellow color blocked number, another 6 inch heel.
He looked at it sideways. “I like this. What else?”
I showed him the same shoe in a bright green.
“I like this one too. I’ll take them.”
“No problem,” I said.
“Christina, when you’re done with that customer, clock out, okay?” My boss poked her head from around the corner that separated the clothing section from the shoe section.
