Secrets & Revelations Ch. 02byTemuchen©
Chapter Two: Lawrence
Lawrence St. James reached over and decreased the volume to the radio as he slowed to a stop at the red traffic signal. Waiting for the light, he surveyed the intersection. Smiling he stared at the clean streets and wholesome looking couples and families entering the surrounding restaurants. It has only been a couple of weeks since his last conquest but his hunger was becoming insatiable. He definitely wouldn't find what he needed here.
Twenty minutes later, Lawrence traveled along Jackson Avenue, the stained brick walls of the bordering vacant buildings and old factories standing guard over the dark shadows of the narrow alleyways. Yes he thought, much better.
He neared the intersection at 32nd Street and drifted alongside the front curb of a grungy motel. He stopped the car and shut off the engine. Well, let's see what turns up, he mused, watching the street. Sitting there, Lawrence took the time to scrutinize the immediate area finding the environment perfect for what he needed. The street lamps barely lit the street, casting a dim pallor over the old tattered posters and graffiti adorning the adjoining buildings.
"Bingo!" There she was, strolling across the parking lot of that cheap motel. Oh yes... just the thing. God, he thought, she was the embodiment of the ideal Trollope, an American hooker, a prostitute. She exuded confidence as she sauntered over the refuse that littered the asphalt lot. Dressed in a red and white tube top and a scant black mini-skirt accented by black fishnet stockings, she stomped away in lethal looking black four or five inch heels. Her hair was a spiked blond and her make-up, well, a beautifully garish manifestation. He liked this one, hell...he loved this one. And, there was something about her...something familiar.
She glanced at the car and hesitated. He feared she would return to the motel but she resumed walking toward the street. Evidently, she didn't see me, he thought. He watched her make the sidewalk and start for the intersection, probably to sell her wares. Lawrence waited until she reached the corner before he started up the car to follow the woman. Those stockings beckoned him, calling for his special attention. As she stood at the corner, he noted she carried a small bag. Hmmm, he thought...tools of the trade?
Slowly, he drew up next to her and stopped. The gaudy female looked down into the car, peeking at him. Lawrence leaned toward the open passenger window and said, "How much to give you a lift somewhere?
Lawrence eyes widened as he saw the hooker's mouth fall open and stare at him. Surprised by her reaction and obvious disgust toward him he thought, Christ, maybe he was mistaken, this was her normal attire...she likes to dress like a whore.
"What did you say?" She spoke each syllable in a dramatic Southern accent.
"Uh, my mistake...I apologize. I mean, well...it was just the way you look, Miss. Let's face it, you are rather colorful."
"Oh, well since you put it that way," and reached over and opened the passenger door. Lawrence stared as she gracefully slid across the seat and closed the door. Now concerned, he wondered if she was a nutcase. She carefully smoothed out her mini, her hands gliding over two lovely thighs leisurely caressing the smooth flesh exposed above the stockings. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the subtle movements of those slender fingers, the fingernail of her forefinger gently scraping across the silken skin.
"Uh...where would you like to go?" asked Lawrence, his face glistening from sweat.
"Why home dear, where else would you take me?" The voice lost its Southern Belle accent. He gasped in shock as he stared at the face scowling at him.
"Stevie? My God, is that you?"
"Yes my sweet?" This said in a soft mocking tone.
"But...ah...what are you..."
Lawrence never finished his sentence, his wife glaring at him from the passenger seat of a car she's never been in, let alone seen. "Darling, I'm rather tired and would like to go home. Can you please take me home now? We will chat about our discoveries after we have had time to...umm...relax? Okay?"
Lawrence St. James could not think straight. Now, he needed to ditch the car and retrieve his regular one. And, she would see it all. Fuck, he thought, how was he going to explain all this?
The ride to his hidden car only took ten minutes. She never broached a word as they switched into his Jag. Nor did she say anything during the drive home. Thirty minutes later, he watched from the driver's seat as Stevie entered the house from the garage. She was still attired in the clothing of a street walker. He sat there contemplating what he was going to tell her, how he was going to tell her. He whispered, "Shit, the goddamn cats out of the bag now, might as well tell her everything." Lawrence thought, if she does not want to accept my little idiosyncrasy, well...we will just have to see.
Lawrence entered their home and swiftly walked into the game room aiming for the bar. He reached over the railing and grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort, filling a shot of the golden elixir. After his third shot, he ambled into the bedroom where he could hear his wife slosh about in the tub. His mind still reeling over finding his wife dressed as a whore strutting about in the sleazy side of town, he changed into more comfortable wear and waited for his wife to emerge. On her side of the bed, he saw the bag she had been carrying. Seizing the bag, he examined the contents finding his wife's normal outfit within.
"What the fuck!" he exclaimed.
"What the fuck, indeed Lawrence." The steel in her voice decried the more genteel timbre he was accustomed too. "Now, will you be kind enough to explain why you were trolling along 32nd Street...not the finest part of town to be cruising, I must say."
His head hung down, his eyes closed, he resolved himself to tell her of his unique appetite. "Stefania, I have something I must tell you, to come clean as some would say." He looked at her, staring into her eyes. "I am not sure how you will receive this. I can only hope you will understand; but, it will not be appealing. Most others would...uh...find my distinctive craving foul, evil and devoid of humanity."
Lawrence could see her eyes widen with concern.
"Stefania...Stevie, please allow me to speak without interruption. Afterwards, you may do as you like. I will not stop you. Please understand I love you more than my own life. I would never harm you nor would I ever intentionally leave you.
I...I have what others would call a disease, a disease of the mind, an illness of the heart. I have endured this disorder long before I met you and afterwards was able to resist for several years. But, the need slowly crept back into my psyche, the hunger grew. Yet, what others would deem a sickness, I consider a cure. I rid society of disease. I eliminate the filth that permeates our very existence."
I paused and inhaled, drawing in a deep breath before releasing in a deep sigh. This...this thing I do began long ago, when I was a young man of twenty. I can't answer why. All I can tell you is...it began when my father...when I was forced to become a man with a local prostitute. It was disastrous. Both the offending woman and my father ridiculed me, laughed at my inadequacies. I guess I had never recovered from that incident.
Now I view all women of this sundry livelihood as nothing more that infestations.
Stevie, I was deliberately seeking a woman of the same ill repute, a prostitute."
Stevie's eyebrows arched, alarm displayed within those beautiful emerald eyes.
"Stevie, when I saw you in that parking lot, I found my objective for the evening. But, not for what you may be thinking right now. Yes, I would have had sex with her; I would have fucked her viciously. And, I always wear protection...for several reasons. The obvious one is protection for me from the apparent diseases she carries and secondly, safety for you. The other purpose, to hide the evidence. Yes Stevie, to hide any evidence that might link her death to me.
Now do you understand my love? If they allow me to buy their services and fuck them, they have proven their deviant and diseased life and defined their will for me to cure them. And I do this by releasing them from the world that created their unclean existence.
In a sense, I consider myself much like a surgeon. I surgically remove the infectious tumors of humanity."
Stevie sat on the chair of her vanity. I studied her face looking for the shock, the terror of what she heard. But I didn't see what I expected, I didn't observe that face of horror I have seen so many times before. Surprisingly, she appeared fascinated by what I had just told her.
After several minutes, she spoke those words that would change our lives forever. "Lawrence...baby, I am at a loss as what to say. Honey, I need to tell you something about myself, something that may startle you, uh...maybe not so much after what you just confessed.
Actually, it will explain why you found me where you did and why I was dressed as a...well, as a hooker.
My love, I too harbor a dark secret. I go out on evenings when you are away. By design, I seek companionship of someone, a man who harbors no fear of seducing married women.
I have a past, a past of betrayal and...death. When I was seventeen, my father left my mother and me. I never discovered why until many years later, after...after my mother's death. I had returned home from school and found her lying in bed. At first, I thought she was sleeping but after I was unable to wake her, I feared the worst. I tried to check for a pulse, a breath anything that would indicate she was only sleeping. I dialed 911 but I suspected my mother was beyond help. Once the paramedics announced she was dead, they notified the police. They had located an empty bottle of prescription sleeping pills.
The police talked to me in length, asking all sorts of questions to which I had no answers. Why would she want to kill herself? Was she under a doctor's care? Where was my father? Finally, after the arrival of my Aunt Lydia...you've met her...she took me in.
Two years later, when my aunt and I were going through my mother's things, I found the note. She had hidden a two page letter in one of the photo albums. The letter read of why she did what she did, she couldn't go on living with the guilt she had kept hidden within.
Stevie reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and removed an envelope. She lifted two pages from within and held them out for me. I took them and read her mother's final words to her daughter.
"My dearest Stefania,
I am so sorry I do not have the courage to go on. You are not aware of what transpired to because you father to leave me. He didn't leave you...he left me. You also do not know your father killed himself six months after he left. That is why he never tried to contact you. He also did not possess the bravery to live for you, his only child, his daughter.
A month before he left, he discovered I had an affair. I had met a handsome young man during a luncheon with friends. He plied me with compliments and undivided attention, would send me flowers at work, and constantly asking me to dinner. Your father and I were going through a rough time then and the interest shown by this man was a welcome relief for me. I, unwittingly, forgot about your father and the love I held for him. I finally gave in and secretly met my new admire for dinner. He was brilliant in his quest to dominate my emotions. After dinner, he took me dancing. I let all my anxieties, all my inhibitions vanish and fell into his trap. Oh, he was perfect in his seduction of a married woman. Later, we finished our evening in a hotel room. I still cannot believe how easy it was for him to bed me. At the time, I didn't care about anything other than him and what he was doing to me. And what I did for him. Things I would never do with your father.
Your father had returned home early that week. I had been with this man several times by then. I wasn't home when your father came back. I didn't come home that night. He called my cell phone and I answered and lied as to where I was. Not realizing he was home, I told him I was relaxing in bed. I was, but not at home in the bedroom where he was standing at that moment. He never said a word about my lie. He merely said he loved me and would be home soon. I should have suspected something when he disconnected before I could tell him I loved him.
When I returned home, I realized your father had been home. A bottle of his favorite bourbon was setting on the coffee table, empty. Next to the bottle was a tape recorder with a note saying 'play me!' The recording was our phone conversation and in the background, the sounds of my lover sliding into me. My daughter, it was graphic. Alongside the recorder was his gold wedding band.
Your father left that day. I never told you the truth, I was so embarrassed and fused with guilt.
When I met my young man and told him it was over, that my husband knew and left me, he laughed. He shocked me by his callousness, his lack of concern. He laughed and said that is what happens when I became his married slut. He wanted more of me and I told him to go to hell. Dear Stefania, he took me, he abused me...he raped me. Afterwards, he threw me out saying now the slut can leave.
I tried to find your father and beg his forgiveness. He never returned to work. He disappeared and no one had any idea where he had gone. It was weeks later I was notified by the police they had found him. He had driven through a mountain railing and fell over three hundred feet before the car burst into flames. They called it was an accident but I knew different. I killed him; I destroyed your father with my vanity, my selfishness.
My dearest daughter, please forgive me. You are old enough to live your life without my existence and I cannot live with this guilt. I loved your father so much; I cannot go on without him. I am so sorry.
Stefania...my little Stevie,
I love you."
I held the letter, staring at those three last words written from a broken woman that shimmered from the distortion of my tears. I looked at my wife, no words spoken.
Stevie briefly closed her eyes before she said, "My husband, something snapped within me. I was devastated. Not only had I lost my father because of another man, I also lost my mother, grieving and guilt ridden because of that man. My purpose became clear; I would have my revenge for both my father and mother. I would seek vengeance against any man who, without conscience, seduce women...married women. I would portray the lonely wife. I would wait for a man to approach, to lure me with his wiles. And, if successful, he would find the ultimate release...death."
Lawrence sat there staring at his wife. For the first time, he had no words...anything he could say at this moment failed to fit the emotions running through him. At last, a smile creased his face. His eyes shown with love for a woman that was as fucked up as he was.
He stood and walked over to her still seated in the vanity chair. He took her hands, pulled her up and embraced her. She softly cried on his shoulders, not from fear or guilt, but of happiness. She loved him dearly and now they shared a bond no other couple could ever possess.
"Stevie, I love you so terribly much, thank you for trusting me. We will always be one in our...ah...endeavors. No more secrets between us."
Stevie looked into her husband's loving eyes and whispered, "Yes my dear husband, no more secrets." She sighed. They were writing a new chapter in their life together. She caressed his face and tip-toed to gently kiss his lips. "No more secrets."
Lawrence stared down at the 26 year old woman, her tongue obtruding from her lips. She was naked beneath him, a periodic twitch of her legs revealing her final dance with death. This one had been especially easy, he mused, almost...as if she wanted her sordid life to end.
Her eyes bulged open staring at him but they no longer observed. Her bra strap cut so deep into her throat you couldn't see the material. He smiled recalling the moment she understood her life was over. She never fought, never tried to stop him. She watched his face as he exerted the pressure needed to cut off the supply of oxygen to her brain. Only once, did she exhibit any movement toward survival, a brief gasp and tug at the strap around her neck. Now, she was at peace.
A soft knock came from the door adjoining the two rooms of the second-rate motel he was in.
"Go ahead," he yelled. The door slowly opened, the visage of his wife's curious face appearing around the door frame.
"Everything alright," she asked.
"Yes, my love...as right as can be."
Stevie entered the room and approached the bed. "My god, Why does she look so peaceful?"
Lawrence gazed at the prostitute's face. She did look as if she was content. "I...I believe she cared little for the life she led so far. She never tried to stop me, Stevie. She just looked at me...almost in relief."
Stevie noted her husband was having a difficult time with this one. Something was wrong, different. "Lawrence, what is it, what's wrong?" Lawrence looked at his wife, blood smeared over her nude form. "I...I don't know. She was different, I guess. Not like the others. I'll be fine, don't worry. How did everything go with your stud?"
Stevie's concern evolved into an easy smile and replied, "Oh, he was every much the man I needed, callous, uncaring, totally into himself. I'm sure he enjoyed our little tryst, at least until the end."
Lawrence winced. He understood her meaning. Her young man suffered at the end of their session. One time, Stevie allowed him to see the results of her undertaking. Lawrence wasn't use to all the blood, the gore everywhere. He never again asked to witness her episodes. But, he empathized with her need. His was just, well...cleaner.
"Lawrence, I need you."
He knew this was coming. Ever since they confessed their dark obsession, they now undertook their hunt on the same evenings. And, they always obtained adjoining rooms at the most obscure motels they could find. Afterwards, Lawrence and Stevie would finish with a love fest in one of the two rooms, usually in Lawrence's.
Stevie made no move to clean herself of her former lover's blood, lying down on the empty twin bed. Lawrence watched as she ran her hands along the gentle curves of her hips, over her flat smooth stomach, capturing both of her crimson peppered breasts.
He carefully extracted himself from between the dead hooker's thighs and moved over to the other bed. His fingers grazed along Stevie's left inner thigh until finding their way through the soft red pelt covering her mons. Stevie sighed as he cupped her sex, his middle finger sinking into her depths.
"Yessss....touch me, take me," she hissed, her hips withering with his caress. Lawrence slid onto the bed, his large frame against delicate one. He leaned in and gently kissed her, his tongue sliding along her parted lips and into her mouth. Stevie sucked on his tongue as hers tenderly skimmed over the tip of his.
His hand glided upward over her stomach to her right breast and softly trapped her engorged teat, teasing the hardened pink bud with his thumb.
"Oh God," she cried as his head moved downward, his mouth poised above her breast then seizing the hot nipple between his teeth. When he chewed on the pink flesh, she violently arched her back, her hips lurching upward.
By this time, Stevie had grasped her husband's cock, stroking the steel-like eight inch rod to further blood engorged lengths. She felt the wet juices from the dead prostitute coating his organ, providing lubricant for her manipulations. Her right hand moved behind his head, her fingers in his hair as he continued to suckle at her breast, his fingers still buried amid her drenched labia, her pussy inflamed by his incessant attention.