Failing Upward Ch. 07

"Let me," I said, tossing the condoms aside. "I don't think we have much to worry about. I'm Clark Kent, remember. Besides, I have this need to feel you come hard up my ass."

I smoothed the lube onto my hand while he devoured my mouth. His cock was red, hard and eager as my hands grasped him. I thought how beautiful looked, the light from the window dappled across his face. His breathing was ragged, and he thrust into my hand, placing his hand on top of mine. My cock ached, now painfully hard and bobbing up and down against his belly. His stomach glistened from my precome.

His mouth broke from mine, and picking up the lube, he smeared it liberally on his fingers. While his tongue swiped inside my mouth, he tormented me, circling my anus with his slick fingers. Dipping slowly inside me, he methodically stretched me.

I whimpered and moaned pathetically (as usual). Then Sid sat up and laughed-- one of his deep lusty guffaws. I hiccupped as he pushed his thumb and forefinger into me harder.

"What's so fucking funny? Jesus, Sid. I love you. Come here. Stop teasing and fuck me." In my jacked-up firework-mind, what I said made perfect sense.

I started to sit up when he removed his finger and shoved the tip of his cock into me.

"You aren't going to cry again are you?" He asked, inching in and stretching me open.

"Probably," I moaned.

"Good."

I pulled my legs up higher and my legs shook as I felt my muscles clench in my bowels as he slipped inside me deeper and deeper. Inside me, completing me. I felt his balls against my ass. I grabbed his arms and pulled him into me, thrusting my hips. I raised my knees higher, his tongue wet in my ear.

My arms hugged him into me-- my mouth against his neck, moaning and whimpering.

I was trying hard not to cry. I thought I was doing well-- until Sid whispered, "Come for me" into my ear. The tingle of his hot breath and the dancing lights in my tummy made me love him more. I wanted him all. Now.

I reached down between us and milked my own cock.

I answered, "No, you come in me."

No more gradual build up, no more slow deliberate motions. I pushed into him, balls slapping and my head crack-crack-cracking against the window frame. I lifted my legs, and he hit that spot, making me cry out and my insides turn to fire. Each time his cock slammed into me, I was reduced to a quivering mass. All pleasure and pain. I locked my quivering legs up and around his waist, as he pumped into me harder and faster-- his breaths in sharp, fast bursts. Almost there. Blood rushing in my ears.

"Yes, yes, yes," I hollered. I felt like I was some guy screaming in some bad porn flick. I came hot and dirty, my juices smearing him as he pushed into me. I could feel my ass contracting, milking his cock.

He cried out louder than me.

The sun warmed the left side of my face while Sid's cheek warmed my right. I collapsed my body into him, unfolding my legs down neatly until they rested around the backs of his calves. I didn't want to move. Just remain tied up and spent with Sid on top of me, and in love with the look of my come on his rippling belly, and the feel of his come trickling out of my whorish ass. I felt dirty and proud of it. I remembered the old joke about being ridden hard and put away wet and laughed. It was fucking great.

"What's so funny?"

His mouth looked so sensual with tiny beads of perspiration, I could have sworn they were calling out 'lick me'-- so I flicked my tongue along his upper lip, giggling.

"Now, I think you have gone crazy," he said.

"Oh, shut up. My turn to laugh. Don't move, you're spoiling the moment. I want to keep this feeling the rest of my life. You know, the one where I'm the lonely pioneer woman, and you're rascally outlaw burning and ravaging my crops. Oh, take me again, you brute."

"Mmm, sounds like a great fantasy; we'll have to reenact it some time."

"You might have to tie me up."

"You kinky guy."

"Kinky, crazy and horny. But seriously, my fantasies-- they all have to do with you. Dreaming about you--"

"Dreaming, speaking of dreaming-- what happened to you in that garden away?"

"I got really horny for you. Couldn't you tell? Maybe I am a bit crazy," I said. "I admit, I don't understand a lot of what's going on in my body. I feel like a teenager when I'm near you; God all I want is sex, sex, sex. That's confusing enough. Well, at least up until we fuck each other's brains out. Then I'm not confused at all. Makes perfect sense. Other times--"

I took a deep breath, curling a wisp of his hair at the nape of his neck around my finger.

"Sid, I know details about people. I've always been able to do that since I can remember. But it's not something I can control. It comes and goes. Now, since this, sometimes I can call on it, and sometimes it just comes to me. And it's not just little flashes or feelings like it used to be. It's these great big panoramic shots. When I touched this curtain. I felt you through another object. That's never happened before. I saw you watching me down in the garden. And I knew some of what you were thinking-- how scared you were for me. Shit, if I was even half way coherent down there, I would have been terrified."

I looked out the window, recalling what Sid witnessed-- vines coming alive like barbed tentacles. My free hand reached out again to the curtain.

"Now when I touch it, I feel us, brushing against the curtain. Our sex. God, more than sex. Us." Sighing, I pressed at the back of his neck. "Maybe feel isn't the word-- it's hard to explain."

"Try. I'm listening. I want to know."

"It's like colors and touch and sound together. Like when I kiss your mouth," I said, brushing my lips lightly to his. "I wish you could experience what that feels like."

"I just did. And it felt pretty damn good."

"That's exactly what I mean. I know what it feels like for you, too. I see into you. I did just then. If you could only see into me, you'd know for sure."

"Know what for sure?"

"Know for sure that I love you-- not just for today, but always." I kissed him again, hoping that maybe he could see into me just a little bit.

-------------------------------------------

We'd fallen asleep in a tangle when I woke from a tap at the door. Les' voice timidly called, "Dinner." Begrudgingly, I pulled myself away from Sid's warm body, yawning. Sid's stomach growled, answering Les' call. I mused on how I'd become Sid's willing pupil, stuck together with his instructor. God, this felt so right-- and only a few weeks ago I would have been shocked by all that I've learned from my dear teacher, not just about pleasing and being pleased, but about what I am, and I want to become.

I nuzzled a bit closer again, trying to get more of his warmth.

Les tapped on the door again. I groaned and answered, "We'll be there in a minute."

I thought, maybe I should shower, but I didn't want to wash away our love just yet. Being a bit crusty until after dinner was like a naughty little secret.

Babe was pawing to get out. She wasn't the only one hungry and needing to use the bathroom. Sid mumbled he needed to go, too.

I reluctantly got dressed. Opening the door, I found Les still waiting for us at the head of the stairs.

"I was beginning to wonder if you two were ever coming out."

I laughed.

"Yeah, I think I've come out."

As we descended the stair, the aroma from our dinner floated up-- pork, fresh baked bread, and spicy cinnamon mingled with the ever present roses. My stomach growled. I was damn hungry. Enough to eat pork chops. I always got heartburn eating pork chops.

Sid excused himself to the bathroom, and I followed Les into the dining room. Everyone was seated and waiting. Heads up. Looking. Glenda gave me a small haunted smile like she was ashamed. Dressed in a simple floral sundress, she looked so young, innocent.

Uncle Daniel (must get used to calling him that) stood and pulled out a chair for me. Stepping away from me just before my hand neared his. Always keeping that distance. I was keenly aware of his distance, always afraid of the possibility of my touch-- afraid of what I might see? a branding snapshot into his soul? Further proof that he's hiding from me.

Touching the chair, I got no sense of him left behind from his touch. Drat this extrasensory stuff inside me that comes like a whim. I sat, carefully unfolding the napkin in my lap, pretending not to notice their uncomfortable silence. I knew I'd walked in on one of those moments-- the kind where you know you're being talked about just before you stepped into the room. The long, sad silence slapped me in the face-- I felt the burn on my cheeks from the imprint.

Stealing a glance up, Trent arched back in the chair, feigning disinterest.

Sid bounced in, breaking the spell.

"Let's eat," said Les, and my uncle bowed his head in silent prayer.

We passed our dishes to Glenda and my uncle served. I found I'd lost my appetite. I cut up my chops and pushed them from one side of the plate to the other. Sid must have been famished or else he just didn't feel the weight of this silence-- he cut big hunks one after the other.

I looked up, and Trent's icy blue eyes were still regarding me. I decided I'd have to be the one to step across the line in the sand.

"How long have you lived in this place?" I asked Glenda.

"I had this place built years ago-- around 1814."

Sid dropped his fork on the plate with a clang.

"What? 1814? How old are you?" Sid asked.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's impolite to ask a woman her age?" she giggled. Sid squirmed in his chair uncertainly. Making someone her age angry could be dangerous. "Don't feel bad. I don't count anymore. Let's just say I'm much older than this house. Much, much older."

"You're kidding?!" said Sid, shocked. His disbelief turning to awe. He glanced over to me. For the first time I think it occurred to Sid what healing really meant. I wondered, what changes my aunt and uncle had seen-- the history they'd lived. I bet they could tell some incredible stories--

"I was wondering about some of the antiques-- especially the staircase in the back. All hand carved-- it's beautiful."

"Oh, yes. That staircase is old-- much older than this house-- old as I am. We had it brought here from one of our first homes overseas," she said.

I watched as she concentrated on cutting her meat up in delicate bits. Funny, she was being intentionally vague, and I wasn't sure why. What difference would it make to her if I knew how old she was, or where she'd lived in the past?

"Do you have any other 'homes' in the states?" I asked.

"Yes," said Lancaster. "I don't reside here most of the time. This is Glenda's home. Mine home is near Chicago. Les has been there many times."

Les nodded and drank his iced tea. I sipped mine, wrinkling my nose. Not enough sugar and too much lemon for my taste. I swirled the tea with my finger-- the ice cubes tinkling on the side of the glass, echoed in that big old dining room.

"We have other places, too. Summer and winter homes. Some near, some far."

Now that was really vague.

I was tired of small talk.

"The first time I came here delivering the roses, you meant for me to get stuck with a thorn," I stated. "What happened after, with my car? Was Les there or not?"

"I followed you," Les admitted. "Actually, it was my idea to follow you. And when you got in the accident, I called the ambulance and Uncle Dan." He sat forward toward me in his seat and tears were in his eyes. "I thought you were dead when I saw the car-- and when you weren't in it-- I was worried. I figured Shackleton had you. Then I found the card and opened it. Later, we found out you stumbled up to an old farm house and went to the hospital from there."

"I felt bad later," he added, "tricking you to come back here by putting the card in your guitar case, but it was the only way we could think of to get you back here. We figured you'd return the card-- either out of obligation or curiosity."

"I don't believe this. Ever thought of just asking straight out? 'Hey, wanna come over?' Why trick him to get him back here? Why? To get to know him 'cause he's family?" asked Sid, his cheeks flushing. "I don't think so."

Les piped up, "Of course because he's family. Why else?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know," said Sid.

The ice in my glass had disappeared from my sloshing it in circles and was watered down enough to be drinkable. I took four gulps, then the glass slipped from my hand to the table. Clunk. Didn't spill-- but I had everyone's attention.

"How many times do I have to go out into the garden before I'm one of you-- you know, one of the immortal?"

My words sounded like a line from a bad Highlander episode to me. I almost laughed. Almost. I willed myself to meet my uncle's stare.

"Or is indoctrinated a better word for going out into the garden? Is there some other euphemism you 'immortals' use for this process?" I asked sarcastically.

"Human sacrifice, more like," said Sid, voicing my thoughts exactly.

I was with Sid on this. It wasn't the process that had me irked. It was all this manipulation to get me here and into the garden the pissed me off.

"Blood letting," said Lancaster. "I suppose you could refer to it as that. Although not entirely accurate, since Wes called on the roses. I've never seen the roses do that before. I was shocked when I witnessed."

"You're saying that Wes did that?" Sid asked.

"Yes, and from what our Les told us, it was even more spectacular earlier today," Lancaster said.

"I wouldn't call it spectacular; I'd call it frightening," Sid said under his breath.

I noticed Les nodding, agreeing with Sid.

"What happens to a regular person who gets stuck with one of those thorns? Anything?" I asked, curious.

"Usually nothing," said Glenda. "With a few sensitive individuals, they'll have a reaction. Become ill, some seriously ill. There's a theory in the Community, that those individuals who are sensitive to the rose are part of our bloodline-- removed many generations and were never influenced by the rose."

"What's the Community?" I asked.

"A secret organization--" Lancaster said, "in the beginning the Community was made up of mortals who knew about us. They helped to keep us secret. We formed as an alliance; we helped them gain power, and they gave us anonymity. People had different reasons for joining the Community. Some are scientists and scholars, seeking knowledge. Some just wanted power. Ask Trent about them. That's the organization Trent belongs to," Lancaster said with a hint of contempt in his voice. "For years, hundreds of years, they were a benign group, just watching us. Then they wanted and asked. Now they often take. With this new leadership, the Community is becoming more and more meddlesome."

"Meddlesome is being too kind," said Glenda, eyes burning into Trent across the table.

"I thought you were only a hired gun-- a hit man. You didn't say you belonged to any organization," I said to Trent.

"I said I worked for them and followed their orders. That means belong," he looked from me and pointedly to Glenda. "I am sworn to them. That doesn't mean I agree with all they do."

"Orders are orders," she snorted.

"The Community's leader is a made immortal," Les said to me.

"You mean like Shackleton?" I asked.

"Yes, made immortal, but no, he's not like Shackleton. He has a moral responsibility, a moral code," Trent said.

Glenda laughed into her iced tea.

"What moral code is that?" she asked. "The one where you kidnap innocent people and take what you want from them? He's no different than Shackleton in that respect."

"They are left unharmed," Trent replied.

"Unharmed?" Sid sputtered. "Just because Wes doesn't have a scar left on the outside doesn't mean there was no harm in what you did."

"I'm sorry for that. But it was necessary."

"Necessary? Why?" Sid asked.

Trent chewed his pork chop, staring thoughtfully at Sid, then myself.

This dinner conversation wasn't good for my digestion. My stomach hurt. Or maybe it was just the pork.

"There is much going on here you do not yet understand," Trent explained. "Your uncle and aunt here aren't untarnished either. Hiding what they are often comes at a high cost."

"As in human lives?" Sid asked.

"Many of their people believe no mortals should know their secret. They feel the Community was a mistake. It's true that history has proven that those they trusted often turned on them, trying to destroy what they are. Now, no mortal who knows what they are is safe."

"My God," I said. "My parents." I instinctively grabbed Sid's hand under the table.

"Yes," Trent answered.

"Hey, wait one moment," Les said. "We had nothing to do with your family's death, Wes. The Community was behind that."

"The Community had nothing to do with their death," Trent said, vehemently. "Maybe you sitting here had nothing to do with their deaths, but you are fools to think your people had nothing to do with the Grant's death."

My head was spinning; I felt nauseated. My family.

Secrets.

Sid. Alan and Lynn. They knew. God, what will happen to them?

"Excuse me," I said.

I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

---------------------

Self-Preservation

My head ached, and my stomach lurched-- the dinner conversation scrolled through my brain. All the secrets, all the half truths, all to protect me. Now I had to conceive of a way to protect those I loved, or they'd end the same as all I'd lost.

I slid down farther into hot water of the big old claw-foot tub. Relax. I must relax.

I hated getting cleaned up and leaving Sid, even for a moment. Steaming all that jumbled and confused emotions out of my head, helped. I had to think.

I didn't want to leave Sid in this house-- I didn't want to take him with me. I didn't think anywhere was safe anymore.

Not for him. Not for me.

I plunged my head under then buoyed up. I shook my hair, spraying water on the wall, then sank back down. I hoped the womb like comfort of a bath would help me gain some clarity. What to do? How to figure out this riddle?

Can I save him. Can I save us?

Blood. They needed mine to derive the serum. The Community and people like Shackleton took it from immortals, harvesting us like some crop. I was some new exotic strain with healing properties. Why would the power to heal be so important to someone who could live forever? Shackleton and the Community weren't benevolent; they wouldn't bestow this gift on mankind.

Shackleton implied he hated his flat existence. Was that all? He wanted to feel? This was a hell of a lot more than curiosity on Shackleton and the Community's part.

Power and control. Isn't that what most men like Shackleton wanted? The steam from the tub loosened the jam of information cluttering my mind. I sorted out the pieces I needed-- all the parts-- the Community, power and the whole idea of eternal life. As far as I could tell, there wasn't much difference between Shackleton and the Community except that the Community was subtle and more polite. In the end, I believed they essentially wanted the same-- power and control.

What good was living forever if you got to hide? Maybe bestowing a healing touch would get them what they desired.

Obviously, mortal people would envy and distrust those who live forever. That was why these immortals kept themselves secret. They weren't indestructible. Exposed as immortals, they were probably killed and hunted in the past-- at least that's want I assumed from the comments made at dinner.

People fear what they don't understand.

What better way to gain the average man's trust than to be able to give some gift in return?

Cheating death. Yes, maybe my blood might help others cheat death! Maybe that's what they wanted from me. A chance to come out in the open.