Unexpected Relief Ch. 01

Details get blurry at this point, but they had taken her things when I wasn't there- there was a note about a restraining order that never turned out never actually being filed. I had packed everything up for her in nice, neat little boxes, trying to bring some order to the mess she had left. I tried to rid myself of everything that reminded me of her- even the quilt that my mother had made for Janette and I on our first year anniversary, I folded into one of the boxes. I hadn't bothered to wash out the cum-stain.

I didn't want to hear the gossip, but people always liked to tell me things that I could I didn't really want to know, thinking that it would bolster and encourage me. Peter had left both her and Victoria for new wife Number 4. A few weeks passed and then she had tried to contact me again, wanting to work things out. I simply told her, "I don't trust you." and hung up the phone much to what turned out to be her surprise and hurt. She stopped trying after the third time- but not before she had flew into a volley of accusations and recriminations about my worth as a man. I hung up the phone and looked at my knuckles, unable to forget the anger and blood.

Six months had passed...

I had found a new cafe- this one was more laid back than the trendy one we had met at, that one still displayed some of the pieces Janette had made. That place was almost as lousy with memories as home. Even at six months I was still in pain. I needed to get out of the apartment- I had tried to scour it of everything that reminded me of her, but objects were easier to get rid of than memories. I really should have moved.

So, there I sat, in a cafe alone, trying to formulate an inspired response to an uninspired article. It was March, and Spring was early this year. I wasn't able to see the flowers, but I could smell them. Janette preferred the scent of vanilla and roses.

My friends, the few I still had- (Janette had claimed the rest- few people wanted to openly support a woman beater, plus, Janette had been far more popular to begin with) tried to comfort me. Twice, they had tried to set me up with women. They had been pretty enough. One was an art student, the other studying business law- the artist had hair like corn silk and volunteered in an animal shelter, the other was Russian girl, straightforward and clever, who lived at home, helping her widowed father raise her five siblings in while working and going to school, had these beautiful eyes that were open and shining, like green jewels. Both unintentionally reminded me of Janette- not really their fault. They both seemed like very nice, and neither one ugly, but my heart was just still too raw. The dates were halting, awkward affairs for all parties involved, and after the second one, my friends stopped pressing the issue.

But now it smelled like wildflowers in here, and rain and spice- mixing in with the already heady aroma of coffee.

"Hello?" I heard a woman's voice, soft, rich and velvety, a soothing contrast to the clanging din of the cafe,"Is that you?"

I didn't look up, her friend had to be around here somewhere. I'd just keep my head down, out of her way.

"Uh...hey?" Even not meeting her eyes, it seemed as if she was addressing me. But why should she want to do that? I'm a depressed, bitter woman beater- it was better to leave me alone. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that.

Instead of going away, instead I could only blink when brown fingers, capped in healthy, short cropped nails painted in chipped black nail polish blocked the top of my page.

I looked up, greeted by this pair of incredible grey eyes surrounded by a sea of black ringlets and a beautiful face with skin smooth and colored like teak. I lowered my book down, and saw lips full and expressive, pursed expectantly at me.

"Mr. Everett...uh, Tom, is that you?" The scent of spice and wildflowers made me heady- and a trickle of realization broke through the thick shell of my depression.

No, it couldn't be?

She saw that brief spark of recognition and smiled, her teeth even and white, flashing like lightening in her fully lipped mouth. "It's Yolanda...remember, you tutored me when I was in high school?"

I did tutor a Yolanda, but she looked so, well...different. My eyes roamed up and down her body. Yolanda had been this awkward little thing, stout and clumsy, with a face that was too round and a mouth that was filled with teeth that really could have used braces. I was a senior in high school, in contrast to her being in the Eighth Grade. Despite the fact I attended the same school that she did, she addressed me as Mr. Everett, like I was a teacher. I chalked it up to just another sign of her social awkwardness. I was gearing up to graduate, ready start my higher education at the local junior college because I couldn't afford a the price of university tuition, and she hadn't even started high school proper. This had been years years ago.

I found myself staring. It was my turn now to be the awkward one as I gazed at her body, far from short and stout. She had gained about six inches of height, and the baby fat had redeposited itself itself into the sweet, full contours of a young woman in full bloom. Underneath her tight black t-shirt, I saw the impressive swells of breasts and I coughed, blushing scarlet when I knew she had caught me looking.

"I do remember. Yolanda...it's good to see you." I attempted vainly to come out of this with at least a little dignity intact, but failed miserably. I was still in shock. In my mind, Yolanda Redford was still a sullen, quiet, chubby little girl, shy but smart, and my grief-riddled mind was slow to process the changes. Memories came trickling back like winter frost melting underneath the Spring sunshine.

I was one of the few people who she let into her world of private thoughts, and that world was not very happy. Her mother was hard working, but very poor, trying to raise three children on her own. The man she considered the closest thing to a father had run out on them when 'Landa (a pet name her mom and her siblings called her, as would any friends, if she would have had any) was still in elementary school. Her birth father was some rich white guy who treated her mother like a princess behind closed doors and in the back of his Lexus- but like some antebellum maid or a ghetto slut in front of his Ivy-league buddies and fine pedigree family. Being the the eldest child in a family raised by a single mother, Yolanda struggled with her weight, depression and identity issues that were expected, really, given her situation. She struck me as someone who might take solace in poetry, and I shared with her one of my personal favorites, a poem by D.H. Lawrence.

"I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself, A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without having felt sorry for itself."

Ironically apt advice that I myself just couldn't seem to follow myself.

"I've changed a bit, huh?" Yolanda asked, knowing full well she had as I nodded like some simpleton.

After awhile of me not speaking, she continued.

"You know Tom, my friend works here? She tells me that you nurse the same drink for hours, and that you keep your nose in some book, never looking up." Yolanda's beautiful gray eyes bored into mine, and I couldn't have looked away if I had wanted to.

""Why didn't you say hi before?" I asked lamely. Deep down, I really wouldn't have wanted anyone to see me in my present state. It was embarrassing, honestly to have her see me so beaten. The poetry I introduced her to had awakened a place within Yolanda, given her a voice she had never found before. With this voice, she discovered her interest in other things, such as music and painting. We both grew from our experiences together. In being able to find a way to inspire her as both a student and a human being, she inspired me in return. That perpetually blooming seed of inspiration was probably one of the few things that kept me going during the dreary, numb tedium that was my life right now. She had been failing English- not through any lack of intelligence, but because, she was where I was right now, so very sad. A kid like her fell through the cracks because her more obnoxious and rowdy peers tended to get the attention and interventions. It was pure chance that I was assigned to her. "I just don't see the point of it", she had told me at the time,"It's not real, who gives a crap if I know what an adverb is, or what a conjugation is, and how to use a comma?"

I remember her tone of voice when she said this, her shoulders slumped like some deflated balloon. After months of working with her, listening to her, reading what she had to write and say and feel, I was able to show her that literature was more than just empty essays- (if only the dull evolutionist I was being subjected to for my current assignment had learned that lesson). By showing her that she did have an active audience who cared about what she had to say, what she had to write, Yolanda Redford, finally felt a part of the world, someone who wasn't just human scenery. "I wasn't sure it was you, to be honest, when I first walked by." 'Landa admitted with a shrug, causing her firm flesh to shudder and ripple so invitingly. I hadn't looked at a woman in half a year, and now I was turning into some kind of letch," You've changed so much, you were so happy then..and had hair. Why are you so sad?"

At that point I just lamely shrugged and tried to deflect by asking about her life.

Yolanda had recently started classes at the same local community college I had gone to when I had graduated high school, and was working at a small music store to make ends meet. This was essentially her Friday. Chance would have it, it was mine too. Without school or work looming that next morning, we could just catch up and we did so as we walked. Honestly, I didn't want to leave once I started talking- it was the first time in months I felt like a human being again. So there I babbled and related what had become of me, my education, my tutoring, and then finally it progressed into the whole story of myself, Janette and Peter.

Yolanda listened intently, her eyes narrowing, and her brow furrowing near the end, until after a long, thoughtful pause she said,"She's lucky a bitch-slap was all you gave her."

"What?" I replied, taken aback," It was wrong..."

"Do you know how many girls...women, I mean, would kill to have a guy like you?" Those large grey eyes of hers regarded me with a intense, passionate sincerity. She looked down from my eyes to my body, causing me to feel somewhat awkward, I wasn't used to having a woman look at me with those kind of eyes- and hers were beautiful. I had noticed those eyes of hers back in high school.

"I don't know." I admitted. I've never been good at initiating, let alone recognizing those kinds of signals.

"I know I did." She admitted, biting her lower lip, she seemed to be fighting off the urge to look down.

"Really?" I said, amazed, "But you were..."

"...Fat?" She said, looking at me coolly, her voice gaining a slight edge.

"No," I replied, my voice soft and low," Fourteen..."

She looked dismayed, "....Oh yeah, that."

I just stared at her- God, I was so bad at talking to people! "I didn't mean-"

Yolanda laughed, it was such a rich, full, lovely sound- like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold morning.

"I know what you meant Tom, I was just teasing you." Her grey eyes still looking at me, and I wanted to swim in them." You used to have such a great sense of humor...you always made me laugh, one of the few people that could back then. It really sucks what this Janette woman put you through."

I was amazed at the changes that had happened in 'Landa. Her personality was so strong and confident- no matter how many times I repeated it inside my head, I absolutely was stunned at how she had changed. She was still young, sure- but very much a woman nonetheless. The other aspects of her growth did not fail to escape me, either- She made quite the striking profile, her hair framing a gorgeous face like a waterfall at midnight, her nose was wide, and perfectly proportioned over lush lips that were almost purple in the darkening sky, perfectly matching her creamy cafe au lait skin. When she smiled, which was often, her face showed dimples. Her neck was long, rising up from proudly from the landscape of her strong shoulders. Being a man, I suppose, I couldn't help but be drawn to her breasts. Janette had always been petite and relatively small-chested, but 'Londa's were large and full, yet firm. Her stomach was concave, possessing a slight outward swell to it. It wasn't fat, but just a womanly kind of softness, her thighs were thick and lush and I found myself wondering what she looked like underneath her clothes, and I imagined what it would be like to discover the contrast of my broad, pale hands caressing that smooth coffee colored skin.

I looked down, a bit embarrassed at where my mind was going and then shook my head, only now thinking to ask her,"Where are we walking to?"

"Nowhere in particular., also known as my place." She laughed again- a declaration and a challenge wrapped up in one sentence,

I was so engaged in her, as I rambled on, telling her what had happened, unable to stop myself from looking at her body. My mind no longer warring with the duel concepts I had of the Yolanda Redford I knew as a child- the small, round pimply faced freshman. I definitely could only see the gorgeous, confidant woman I was speaking with now.

It turned out her "place" was actually some small apartments above a tattoo parlor. I gave her an arched look when I noticed.

"Don't you judge me, Mr. Preppie." Yolanda said with mock indignation," My girlfriend Kat and her boyfriend run the place. I help them out from time to time and and they cut me a great deal on rent. Plus, they use me to "practice."

I WAS being judgmental, although I hated to admit it. I had gotten so used to taking myself so seriously, I had a hard time thinking of people living any other way. I doggedly, stubbornly kept trying to build a bridge for the future, even after I found that I wasn't ever going to get met in the middle. I just kind of stuck out there, not knowing how to be anything but half a bridge. I had assumed this role of an "adult" when other people my age were still going out and having fun and pissing off their parents. An "adult", whatever the fuck that was supposed to be, anyway. Right now, it meant working my ass off in school so I could work my ass off to get my teaching certification so I could work my ass off so I could make a decent living for Janette and I. But Janette was no more. After our break up, I was just going through the motions and it grew more and more painfully apparent to me every day.

'Landa's place was tiny- a glorified studio really. It was somewhat cluttered, the entry way full of posters of bands I would never listen to- let alone heard of. These days I don't think I listened much to anything but NPR, and that was just numb background noise. Sometimes, when I got really angry and nobody else was around, I angrily I ground my teeth to Disturbed, Rammstein or my childhood favorites- Pantera and Metallica. Janette would blanch at stuff like that, calling it 'Hate Music"- and I had set that part of myself aside for her. I think the raw anger in that music scared her, she never really was good at overtly expressing anger, like everything else that was uncomfortably intense, she just re-framed it into something she could accept. Now, I think that's why I started listening to it again. I couldn't be honestly angry around Janette, it was one of the few parts of my life she didn't exist in, and I was still hurting and angry. I had chained myself to the future of someone that would lie to me- who would ask me to put aside my courser nature as she violated my trust..

"....Shhhh" I heard from Yolanda in her breathy voice, the room still half dark.

"I wasn't saying any..." I replied, a bit injured and embarrassed at being called out on my dwelling.

"...Yeah you were." In the dimly lit room, her grey eyes shown like mother-of-pearl, her voice honest, but not unkind," Tom, your thoughts are so loud they're almost deafening."

I opened my mouth again to protest, and before I could get any words out, she grabbed the back of my bald head with her small, strong warm hand, and pulled me down into a kiss. I was astonished by the suddenness, and though I was much stronger and larger, I was just a rag doll in her arms. Her lips were full, wet and sweet, covering mine like balmy bandages as her tongue gently darted into my mouth. She tasted like cloves and honey bread, the scent of her fresh and hot, wafting into my nose and mouth like a treat from the oven, and I kissed her back hungrily. She moaned into my mouth as my hands roamed down her back and cupped her bottom, drawn there, as as if it were the most natural place for them to be.

"You can squeeze harder Tom," Yolanda huffed into my ear, her breath steamy against my skin,"I'm not gonna break."

I did, and God and it felt wonderful to touch a woman again. I gripped her ass and hips in my large hands and she shuddered against me as I felt myself swell and harden in my slacks.

She held onto me tightly, her hands running down my back, nails lightly digging into the shirt and skin as I exhaled my own hot breath into her cheek, then deeply inhaled attempting to do with her sweet, heady earthy scent what my hands were doing with flesh.

I took one of my hands, started to run through my fingers through her long, thick ringlets, massaging her scalp through the thick jungle of her ebon locks.

I couldn't believe I was actually doing this, I had just re...

"...Shhh," She whispered into my ear again, and she gave me wet, little smacking kisses on my neck as she clawed the back of my head to distract me. I kept my head shaved- just my way of bypassing male-pattern baldness, but what Yolanda did, her electric, nimble fingertips made me glad that I went through the daily hassle.

"It's okay to feel good Tommy- It's okay to enjoy life again..." Her tongue wet and agile wriggled into my ear and I couldn't help but moan against her.

I ran my free hand up her sides, her body all these wonderful curves and dips and bumps...

Her hand found mine and boldly placed it on her breast, and I gripped, feeling the heavy, firm weight of her flesh in my hand. At her encouragement, I gripped the warm, smooth mounds hard, and it was now her turn to moan. It was a sound so sweet and husky that it drove me wild, trapping reserves of passion I didn't know I had. I nipped at neck, sucking at that spot just under her ear and I could feel her roil against me, the scent of her arousal amplified, flooding the room and my brain.

"Oh...it's okay, rougher...you can..." She gasped, her hand scratching the back of my neck deep enough to leave marks as she pumped her heated sex against my groin.

I bit down softly and she whimpered and moaned, panting into my ear. Through her tight t-shirt, I could feel the lace of her bra underneath, and something else, I couldn't quite make out. I teased at it the round shape with the nail of my thumb and she moaned even louder.

Yolanda herself against me, and I was steel hard, hot and throbbing. I wanted...no, I needed this as much as she did.

As Yolanda flipped me onto my back, pushing me down against her bed, my eyes, which had a bit of time to adjust to plainly see her smiling down at me, full lips twitching into a deliciously wicked little smile and her grey eyes burning brands into me as she pulled up her shirt and revealed the creamy brown skin underneath, adorned in a variety of tattoos, consisting of everything from musical notes, words from random poems, to trees and stars. I saw that her bra actually understated her hourglass figure- her breasts were so very much more than a handful. I looked into the dark, wonderful expanse of her cleavage and she laughed knowingly.