Juliana Ch. 03

When her full vision returned, Juliana saw the blonde kneel in front of the young man on the left. His penis was in her mouth, only the lower half showing. The brunette did the same to Dr. Fleming. Juliana saw she had a tattoo on her lower back.

There were two fingers up Juliana's vagina now. A thumb rubbed her clitoris, her breasts were mauled and her nipples pinched. It set her entire body aflame. Juliana decided it was beyond her control.

A voice kept abusing her, but she didn't want to hear what it said. The fingers fucked her into oblivion, but she didn't want to feel it. Her eyes watched the women being fucked now on the couches, but she closed them. Don't see, don't hear, don't feel. But she felt. And she came again, sobbing.

***

More than color, religion or sex, poverty divides humanity - not just in haves and have not's, but in beings and non-beings. It shortens people's lives. It robs them of their dignity and future. It is hereditary, and it turns them invisible.

When Juliana woke up the next morning, it was more like swimming to the surface of a deep, deep sea. The water was warm and, unlike a drowning swimmer, she would've loved to stay down, surrounded by a slow whirlpool that made her feel weightless. She knew things would be worse once she broke the surface. And they were.

Memories of what happened the night before attacked her as soon as she opened her eyes. It must be guilt, she guessed, and it wasn't in her mind or in her body; it was somewhere in between, like a sandwich. Her mind knew very well why she was here: to save her husband's life. There was no guilt in that. Her body had no problem either; it felt better than ever. But there was this third nameless entity. It ached whenever she thought back to what she'd done, and what she would be doing in the days to come.

Juliana threw back her covers, finding that she'd slept naked. Her nipples still looked reddish and swollen; her hand found her bald mound and vagina, caressing them softly. She sighed. Turning over to slide out of bed, she saw the chair and the outfit laid out on it. There was a note on the small pile, written in a steady, elegant hand.

"Please wear this before showering and go to the gym." Juliana knew there was a small gym at the side of the building. The butler called it the Orangerie. It was all windows, mirrors and huge pots with exotic plants - like a stylish hothouse.

She picked up the items on the chair.

The gray and black lycra fit her like a glove, both top and three-quarter pants. She decided to love the feeling; a gentle giant's fist holding her up and together. Soft elastic mules fit her feet like socks. She picked the towel off the back of the chair and walked out. In a corridor she passed a reflecting window and couldn't keep from watching her silhouette in it. She'd always heard it was vanity to do so; giving in to the Devil's seduction. She shrugged - there were so many things she'd heard, and none of them had helped her much; neither here or in Chicago.

She looked good, she decided, in her tight little outfit. The girlish breasts were pressed against her rib cage. There was her narrow waist and flat belly; her long, slender legs. Standing tall makes you feel tall. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she walked on.

There already was someone in the gym, working a machine that looked like mechanical stairs. It was the big-breasted girl, the dancer from the dining room; the girl that had... Juliana winced at the memory, feeling her clitoris respond. What was her name again? Melinda. The girl turned to Juliana and waved. Her ass cheeks churned inside her pink lycra shorts; her chest made her look like a cartoon figure.

"Hellooo, Juleeanna," she drawled in her baby voice. "So sweet to join me."

Juliana smiled a forced smile. She considered leaving. Then she walked around the machines, undecided.

"Your first time, honey?" the girl asked, getting down from her machine. She grabbed a bottle and took a swig of water. Juliana saw that the front of her top was dark with sweat, displaying her breasts even more.

"Try the bike first, darling," Melinda said. "Just to warm up, you know. I'll ride with you on the second one." She giggled.

The girl explained things with patience and good humor. But all the time, staring at her lips, Juliana kept thinking where they had touched her, kissing, sucking. She shook her head to get rid of the images. They mounted the bikes, and Juliana pedaled along in a nice, relaxing tempo.

"You like it here?" the girl asked, working out next to her. Juliana just groaned. Such an easy question and she couldn't find an answer.

"Well," the girl said, "I guess it takes time. I remember being nervous too." She grinned. "Consider it like a spa. When will yours be done?"

Juliana stopped her feet.

"Done?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

It seemed to confuse the girl. She also sat up and let her hands make curves in front of her upper body.

"Well, err... you know?" she said. Juliana guffawed, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"Oh no!" she cried out. "Oh God no. I'm not here for that!" She wasn't able to stop a bout of giggles. Melinda frowned. Juliana reached for her knee, patting it.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, but I'm not here for that at all." Melinda shrugged; it did spectacular things to her chest.

"You could use it," she muttered. Then both of them laughed. It was like a catharsis for Juliana. She couldn't stop; the laughter turned into hysterics. And then she cried.

When her heaves finally stopped, Juliana felt her face being pressed into warm, moist pillows. A girly voice mumbled things, and a hand patted her back.

"It's all right darling," the voice said. "Small titties are nice too; some men even like them better." She pulled herself free.

"Stop it!" she cried out. "You stupid girl. I'm not crying for my tits!" Melinda withdrew from the sudden aggression. Juliana knew she'd hurt the girl, and she regretted it at once. She might be shallow and selfish and a whore, but she had hugged her and consoled her in her sorrow.

"Sorry," she whispered. She reached out and caressed the girl's face. "I'm not here for myself. I'm here because my husband is dying."

Melinda's face was a blank.

"Your husband," she said. Juliana nodded.

"He has this... thing in his head. The doctor is going to operate, soon he says. When he is strong enough."

"And you can't pay for it." Juliana nodded. The girl pulled her into an embrace again.

"I guess you never before..." Melinda began. Juliana shook her head.

"No."

They just sat for a while.

"You must think I'm shallow and selfish, and a whore," Melinda then said.

"Oh, no, I'd never do that," Juliana lied. "Who am I to judge?" The girl smiled a very small smile. Juliana realized the little girl's voice had disappeared.

"You must think I am selfish: whoring myself out just to get me some boobs for free - while you suffer for your husband..."

"Oh, no," Juliana repeated.

"It's all right; I won't defend myself," the girl said.

"No need to," Juliana insisted. The girl smiled again, adjusting her breasts inside her top. Then she took another gulp of water from her bottle.

"I am poor," she then said. "Really poor - the stinking, hopeless kind. My mother is poor, working two jobs to feed her three children. Her husband left her when I was 13. He wasn't my father. He never worked a day in his life. He fucked around on her; and he fucked me when I turned twelve."

Melinda looked away to the tall windows and into the garden. Juliana didn't think she saw much.

"Poverty stinks," she went on. "You can scrub toilets and flip burgers and it won't ever make you un-poor. You can take three jobs, but people will look down on you anyway, or even through you. So why be considered despicable and poor if you can be despicable and rich?" The raw logic struck Juliana. Melinda chuckled now, touching Juliana's face.

"I dropped out of school when I was 14 and pregnant. Four weeks later I was un-pregnant and had my very own pimp. A year later I knew that the only one getting rich off me was he, so I ran off and joined a strip-joint. I didn't have the body, but I could dance. And I put out for money. Another year later I did this audition for porn. And another. And another. Until I realized that all these sleazy 'producers' were just in it for the free fuck, telling me afterwards I didn't have 'it.'" She did air-quotes with the word producer and the word it.

"Compared to what I did, this here is peanuts, honey," she went on. "And when I get out of here, there is a contract waiting for me to do six porn shoots. I'll be rich!" Her light blue eyes sparkled when she said that. Then her ironic smile returned as she pushed out her chest. "Well, anyway, I won't be invisible anymore."

She laughed a very contagious laugh. Juliana couldn't stay behind. They hugged and laughed.

"C'mon, girlfriend," Melinda said, relapsing to her singsong girly voice. "Let's hit some of these macheeeenes!"

***

Juliana showered, letting the hot water massage her sore muscles. Then she ate breakfast in her room. On her bed lay a simple white bra and panties, and a thin, gray sweat suit with wide flaring legs. On the floor was a set of wedge-heeled sandals. There also was a note telling her to be at the doctor's office around eleven. As it wasn't ten yet, she left her room to look for a cup of coffee. The corridors were empty and so was the big dining hall. She avoided the lounge.

A voice called her name as she rounded another corner, wondering where she was. Over on the other side of the corridor was an open door; it led into an office. She knew the voice. Images flooded her mind and she considered walking on. But he came out of the office, checking her passage.

"Mrs. Austin," he said, smiling. "Please let's have a cup of coffee. I may have good news for you." He waved her into the room.

She saw a simple desk and some chairs. He offered her a seat and turned away to fill two mugs with coffee.

"Your husband is doing well," he said. "We still keep him sedated, but scans show the blood clot is almost gone." He handed her a cup, asking if she wanted sugar or cream; she declined.

"What about the tumor?" she asked, still recalling what happened only hours ago - the degradations, the obscenities. "When are you going to help him?"

Fleming sat down in front of her, one hand reaching for her knee. She pulled her leg away. His face twitched a half-grin before it returned to professional sincerity.

"In a few more days, I hope," he said. "We really have to be very careful. I hope you appreciate that." Now he smiled his more handsome smile; Juliana could feel the attraction, even after yesterday - knowing she'd better not. Would this place ever stop confusing her?

"When can I see him?" she asked. "I need to see him." The coffee felt hot against her cupping hands. It was too hot to drink. She studied his face, as he seemed to consider what to say.

"We'd rather you didn't," he then said. "Go see him, I mean. Let's keep disturbances to a minimum."

"But he's in a coma," she countered. He reached out and took the coffee from her hands, placing the mug on the desk. Then he rose and took her hands in his, pulling her to her feet as well. They stood close between the chair and the desk. She smelled his aftershave.

"Mrs. Austin," he said in a sympathetic voice, "I like you very much, and I'm impressed with the unconditional love you have for your husband." He left a pause, his eyes searching hers. She knew it made her blush and she hated herself for that.

"Dr. Charrier is very much against letting you visit Mr. Austin," Fleming went on, his hands squeezing hers. "I, on the other hand, do understand your... well, need to see him. Even at a risk of annoying the doctor, I might... well, I can't promise of course, but..."

Juliana now tried to hold the young man's eyes with hers. She felt excitement creep into her bones.

"When?" she asked. "Soon? Please make it soon." He shrugged.

"You should really understand that I take a huge risk, ehm... Mrs... could I call you Juliana? My name is Lester; please call me Les." Juliana noticed that they had ended up even closer. She stepped back instinctively.

"I would never jeopardize your future, Dr. Fleming," she said, pulling her hands out of his grip. "I just ache to see my husband, but I understand that I shouldn't go against medical orders just to have my petty needs, err... met."

Fleming's face hardened. So did his voice.

"Mrs. Austin," he said, while rubbing his three-day stubble with an irritated hand. "You should keep in mind why you are here, and what may happen if you forget that."

Juliana took another step back until a chair stopped her.

"You know I never forget that," she whispered. "How could I?"

They stared at each other for almost a minute. The big house stood around them like a soundproof bell jar. Then Fleming turned away, faking interest in the items on his desk.

"You may leave," he muttered. She did.