Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 02

After getting Rachel's promise that she wouldn't come into the bathroom, Sara took a long shower; by the end of it most of her anger against Rachel had been washed away. Rachel had no more choice than she herself did - they were both tools of other people, and if someone hits you with a hammer you don't blame the hammer. If what Rachel said was true - and deep down she suspected it was - then she had nobody to be angry at but herself. When she remembered the events of the night before (and she remembered everything in explicit detail) she had felt no compulsion, no outside force, nothing that she could blame the weed for.

And besides, the more she thought about it the more it made a kind of sense that she didn't like but couldn't deny. Every time she had seen Isaac for the past couple of weeks, the more aroused and lust-filled she was at the end of the night. It wasn't like someone who had to be coaxed even to give her a little tongue was going to take care of it. Last night she had been aroused when she arrived, had gotten more aroused during the movies, and finally snapped and took what was being offered to expend her lustful energies and sate her wicked urges. The marijuana had just allowed her to relax enough for her sinful inner nature to take over - she never would have done it without the brownie, but the brownie didn't make her do anything. She couldn't get off the hook that easily. In fact, she realized, if Rachel had told her about the weed right before she had kissed her, Sara wouldn't have even paused before she continued. Last night had been all her.

If only Isaac would take care of her like a man should take care of his woman! Neither of them were pure, and they had been engaged for a long time now. Everyone in the church in this position was already sleeping together. Nobody cared. They suffered no vilification, no opprobrium. Everyone knew God had brought them together and their betrothal had made it official, so why should they wait? Why was Isaac so cursedly stubborn on this point?

She was going to have to have a talk with Isaac, because this simply couldn't stand. She wasn't going to make it until September. Her flesh was filled with lust and she needed it slaked. But lust was normal, the Bible understood that and so did the church, and by all rights Isaac should be seeing to her. She knew that she alone bore the blame for what had happened last night, but she also knew she never would have done it if her fiance had been taking care of her like he should. She had to talk to him about his duties.

And she had to talk to someone else too, someone of spiritual knowledge and authority. Normally that would mean the pastor or the assistant pastor, but she could hardly confess to her future father-in-law or her future husband about her sexual infidelity! No, she would have to find someone at another church to discuss things with, but it needed to be someone she could trust.

Her shower was long, and by the time she finished she had used up the hot water for the building. She emerged a steamed prune, but she felt better, steadier on her feet, stronger. Rachel was in the living room as Sara made her way to the bedroom and dressed in all the same clothes she had worn yesterday. She hadn't made the Walk of Shame since her frosh year of college; on the other hand, as everyone had been pointing out lately, everything she wore looked the same anyway so who could tell?

When Sara came out ready to leave, Rachel was standing by the door. "I'm sure the answer is no, but I wanted to offer you a ride home if you wanted one."

"I called a Lyft," Sara said. There was a moment's pause, and then she added, "Look, about last night - I understand why you had to do what you did. I'm not happy, but you're not the one I'm mad at. If I was in your place I might have made the same call."

Rachel nodded and seemed to relax. "Thanks. I guess this will be the last we see of each other unless we're forced."

Sara sighed. "I liked having you as a friend. It was good to have someone going through the same thing, someone I could just...talk to and have you understand. Just...give me a while, OK? Maybe we can go get dinner sometime or go to a movie. Or maybe just talk when things get hard and nobody else would get it."

Rachel nodded, a little smile on her lips. "You got it. You know the number. We can get eggplant."

Sara chuckled. "Yeah. It's just...don't expect a repeat of last night, OK? Because that won't happen again without an order."

"I get it. It's too bad - you were great - but I get it."

A few minutes later Sara was in the back of a stranger's car being whisked toward her home. The driver, a middle-aged woman with a Slavic accent, never shut up the whole way back and Sara didn't understand a word. She was fine with that, since she was far too distracted to follow a conversation anyway. She tried to focus her thoughts but there was a tsunami inside her head, carrying her helplessly along and sometimes leaving her on one thought-perch or another for a moment before sweeping her back into the torrent. It's all my fault. It's Isaac's fault. It's Rachel's fault. It's the blackmailers' fault, it's the Devil inside me, it's just human nature, it's the second-blackest sin I've ever committed, it's not so big a deal after all, God will forgive, I don't deserve forgiveness. And on and on, tumbling between unconvincing exoneration and inevitable guilt. When she got home she signed for too-big a tip, hurtled herself up the stairs, and broke into sobs as soon as she was inside her own door.

The tears didn't stop for a long time, whether because of the guilt or the stress or just the buildup of emotions. She had a nagging headache that just made everything worse, and by the time she was finished crying it had become a blinding headache. Sometime in the middle of it Isaac had called and she had held it together long enough to tell him she had a blinding headache (which was true) and she couldn't talk (which was also true, but not because of the headache). Isaac gave her comforting words and prayed with her a little, but neither made her feel better, and when she hung up she cried again.

Once she had cried enough, Sara gathered herself for a trip to the gym. She didn't really want to, but she knew from experience that skipping a day just made her feel worse. Once there, though, she was able to throw herself into the exercises with vigor and ride the endorphins to a better place mentally -

Except that she kept looking at other girls on other machines and thinking I know what a woman tastes like now, which kept throwing her concentration off. In the end she found that keeping her eyes closed as much as possible, and staring at the machine when she couldn't, got her through. Fortunately there's nothing even remotely erotic about a gym locker room or shower, so being naked around other naked people did nothing to her whatsoever, and she soon enough finished her time and went about the rest of her day.

It was a strange afternoon. Sara settled into the numb routine of Saturday errands and could almost turn her brain off, except for the occasional flash of memory from the night before which left her achingly horny and, in inevitable accompaniment, as guilty as any sinner ever. That evening she called Isaac, and this time they had something like a normal conversation; still, he knew her more than well enough to know that she was holding something back, and the concern in his voice was evident when he asked, "Is everything OK, honey?"

"Yes," she said automatically, then, "No. It's not. We need to talk."

"OK," he replied calmly, "so let's talk."

"No, not on the phone. And I need some time to collect my thoughts anyway. We can talk tomorrow after the charity kitchen if you have time."

"You know I'll make time. I love you."

"I love you too, Isaac. So much." And she did. She was just frustrated by him, by them. Things needed to change.

She loafed the rest of the night, which wasn't the best decision. An idle mind meant more time for thoughts and emotions to creep in and demand attention, and too many of those thoughts and emotions were erotic. Before the past couple of weeks she would have been able to ignore it, suppress it, but now something had awoken inside her (or between her legs) and before bedtime came she was obsessing about sex, torn between thinking of what she had done with Rachel and what she wanted to do with Isaac. She managed to get to sleep without masturbating, but it required a cold shower and a lot of willpower, and her dreams were filled with sweating and touching and sins galore.

Sunday, April 11

By any reckoning it was a good sermon. John focused his attention on Habakkuk 3:17-19. Not only was attention to one of the minor prophets unexpected, but the message was welcome: faith in God was what got you through the hard times, what let you leap from the desolate valley to the sunlit uplands. Lose faith and you're stuck in the shadows, but maintain it and you'll reach where you need to be, where the part of you that matters truly needs to be. It was an extraordinarily powerful message that, once more, seemed to Sara to be aimed squarely at her.

If only that sermon had made her feel like she actually belonged there. She had sullied herself, partaken in sin of the basest sort, and here she sat clothed in fine cloth while underneath was rot, just like she sat in a good, modest dress while underneath she wore scandalous attire. And not only that, but shockingly some of those same impure thoughts and memories came crashing into her mind at the worst of times, with the result that she felt more apart from her community here than she had since she'd joined the church. Something needed to give.

She was able to lose herself in the work at the charity kitchen, at least. It was nothing that required great intellectual power but it did force her to concentrate on each new person she met, since she went out of her way to shower compliments and kind words on people who likely heard such things far too rarely. After everything that had been happening recently, it was a relief to simply be good.

Afterward, in the parking lot of Holy Light when everyone else had gone their separate ways, Sara was about to tell Isaac that they needed to talk when he suddenly asked, "Sara, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately. I know you're having work stress and part of that is my responsibility, but you've had work stress before and not stopped talking to me. It's like you barely even acknowledged my existence in the past week."

Sara gave a solemn nod. This was it. "You're right, love. Work stress is a huge part of it, but...but maybe not the biggest piece. We can't talk about this in the parking lot. Let's find someplace private."

Isaac's father John had gone by then, so they wound up in the office he shared with Isaac. It was a small place with two desks, four chairs, and a loveseat, and it was positively claustrophobic when there were three or more people in there. For two though, sitting on the loveseat and facing each other with knees touching, it was a cozy spot for a difficult conversation.

And just how do I start a conversation like this? Sara asked herself, and then sighed aloud. I hold my nose and jump in. "Love, like I said in the parking lot, I am having a terrible time at work and I desperately want to leave there -"

"And you know why you have to stay," Isaac said gently.

"But that's not what I want to talk about. There's something else that has been on my mind a lot lately." She swallowed hard. "Something that I think needs to change between us."

Isaac's response was to arch an eyebrow and ask, "Which is?"

A deep breath, and then, "The physical part. Between us. I'm tired of waiting, Isaac. I want you and I don't want to wait until September. We've been engaged for a year and a half. God brought us together. There's no shame if we make love."

This time both of Isaac's eyebrows shot up, forming a two-part bow across his forehead. "Sara!"

"Don't," Sara warned with a tilt of her head. "Don't tell me it's sinful. It's not against the Bible or the teachings of the church. Almost all engaged couples in the church have done it or are doing it. It wouldn't even be unusual - our not doing it is the unusual thing."

"I'm the minister's son," Isaac repeated for the thousandth time. "In a few years I'll be taking the church over when my dad steps down. Premarital sex is...accepted between engaged couples, but waiting until marriage is a a greater expression of faith. As the minister's son, I have to set an example of the highest behavior and you need to set it with me."

Sara knew this argument by heart, and she had never questioned it. Until now. "I'm tired of being an example! I'm not some stained glass paradigm, I'm a flesh-and-blood woman and I have needs. You're my man. You need to fulfill my needs. The church also teaches that."

He recoiled as if stung. "Don't quote my biblical duties to me, babe. I know what they are, and when we're married you'll always be happy. I promise you that. But right now it's my duty to be the best of the best. You knew that when you said yes to my proposal."

She grunted in frustration. "Yes I knew that then, and yes I know it now, but I also know I'm tired of sleeping alone. I know what we're supposed to do and I know what I need. Those two things aren't the same anymore."

"Why? What changed?"

I can't exactly tell him the truth. "I don't know. What difference does it make? We're engaged. We can be together without causing a scandal. It's not like we've just dated once and we're jumping into the sack you know. We've earned it."

"Earning it has nothing to do with anything," Isaac replied smoothly, not raising his voice a decibel. "Two people are brought into love in God's church by the grace of God. He wants us to revel in each other, yes, but there's more than one way to do that. The time we spend together, when we laugh or eat or just hang out, and especially when we pray, those are just as important as anything else we could be doing."

"I'm not saying they aren't. But we're in love. Those times are supposed to be leading to something."

"They are. They're leading to our wedding in September. We're going to spend the rest of our lives together after that. There will be plenty of time for being together physically."

"I'm tired of waiting to do something that no one would condemn us if we did," she said, a note of frustration creeping in around the edges. "Who would even care? Don't you think everyone already assumes we're doing it?"

"This is about the Lord and us," Isaac replied. "It's got nothing to do with what anyone else thinks. How am I supposed to counsel couples to wait until marriage when I didn't?"

Maybe you shouldn't counsel that. The thought flickered across Sara's mind and was gone just as fast, but it left a sour aftertaste. "You counsel them the same way you'd counsel them against doing anything else you've done when maybe you shouldn't have, with the knowledge that sometimes should and have to are opposites. That's life, babe. That's just how it is, and you know that as well as anyone."

"But we don't have to. You want to."

"Are you telling me that you don't?"

"Of course I do! I think about it every day, and when I do I think how much happier we'll be that we waited. That's a real expression of love, being willing to sacrifice that to make it sweeter for the other."

"I don't want you to sacrifice that for me! It's sweet enough right now, and I want it. Maybe if I was a virgin and didn't know what I was missing it would be OK, but I'm not and neither are you. We know what we could have. I want to take it."

"We can't," Isaac said in the tone of voice he reserved for statements that terminated conversations. "I'm the man, and you need to be guided by me. Don't you?"

The Bible was very clear on this point. Quietly, doing her best to contain a surge of anger, she said, "Yes."

"Good." He took her hands in his. "Let's pray." She let him lead her in prayer for perspective and the containment of lust, but she didn't end with the peaceful heart she usually had after praying.

She and Isaac had plans for the afternoon involving hanging out and binging old TV shows, but Sara finished the conversation with a headache and just needed to be away. She made her excuses, then called each of the other Muskatrixes in turn to vent. They all advised her to stick to her guns about it, but she knew that Isaac was unmovable once he'd made up his mind.

Once home, she laid out her outfit for the next day, made dinner of a salad, and spent the evening channel surfing the barren wasteland that was Sunday night television. She went to bed early and had agonizingly erotic dreams about men and women in various, ever-shifting combinations.

Monday, April 12 - Thursday, April 15

It was a tough week.

Her own work was going well, but Josh's deficiencies were beginning to show: in a supplementary proposal for Ingers on Monday, he screwed up things so severely that Sara couldn't let him give it, no matter how badly she wanted to see him fail. For her conscientiousness she was rewarded with him screaming at her for fifteen minutes and a Monday afternoon spent fixing his broken presentation. It's not like it was difficult - when she had had the account this was the kind of thing she could knock out flawlessly in a few hours - but that just made it all the more aggravating that the account was now in the hands of someone who couldn't even get this simple thing correct. Not only that, but she was in charge of proofreading his documents like an intern. How I wish I had the guts to just leave it in the messed-up state the idiot gave it to me in...

That night she was supposed to have a movie date with Isaac, but she canceled, and this time she didn't even bother to lie about why: when he asked her if this was because of what had passed between them on Sunday, she simply said, "That's part of it." He wanted to pray with her again, wanted to talk it out, but she didn't think she could have a rational conversation about it just now so she said her goodbyes and hung up. She spent the evening watching true crime shows and eating New York Super Fudge Chunk from the carton. She gave herself bonus points for using a spoon.

Sleep came hard that night. As she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, work humiliation came flooding back until she was so agitated that she forced herself to think of something more pleasant; unfortunately, the pleasant thing her brain gave her to think about was how amazing her sex with Rachel had been, and before long that was all her brain had room for no matter how hard she tried to change her mental topic. The problem was that she remembered everything in exquisite detail, from the first kiss to the last orgasm, and it was all so erotic that she became almost painfully aroused by it within a few moments. Her nipples drove against the thin fabric of her nightgown and her pussy lips swelled so that every shift of her hips brought ripples of sinful pleasure to her eager body. It would feel so good if I touched myself right now...

No. She hadn't done that in years and she wasn't about to let it all fall apart now. With an effort of will she threw her covers back, vaulted out of bed, and ran to the bathroom to take an icy cold shower. Maybe it was a form of self-flagellation, but she stayed under the stream long after the blast of frigid water had exterminated all erotic thoughts in her head, long after the sensation of bracing chill had turned into pain, and when she finally climbed out she felt better, calmer, and more able to sleep. The rest of the night passed without dreams.