Secret Sins Ch. 06

Funraiser

I spent most of Saturday in bed with the first hangover of my life. I had Tylenol, but it took me a while before I could even get out of bed to go get it, stumbling naked out to the kitchenette to down two of them before going right back to bed. That was at about ten or eleven o'clock, I think. It helped, but it certainly didn't cure me, not like all the sleep I got that day did.

It wasn't good sleep, not the deep kind that freshens a person, but a restless sleep, filled with constant dreams of sucking cock. So many of them, some belonging to men I'd known, some to strangers, but none of them came, so I just kept sucking and sucking, desperately trying to get what I wanted, a nice, thick geyser of sticky, white, spurting jism like in the porn videos.

I was so horny when I finally woke up for good that I didn't even bother going to get my laptop. I masturbated without it, the memory of myself doing so right in front of the Major while he jerked himself in his pants being more than enough fuel to get me off, but not enough to really satisfy.

And I still felt like crap. Only thankful that my headache was gone, I once again stumbled naked to the kitchenette, this time for the same medicine that had given me my illness to begin with. Back on my couch, I sipped at my screwdriver, looking outside to note that the weather had cleared. I vaguely remembered the downpour the evening before, the sound of it hammering the roof with the crashing thunder as I lay soaking in the tub. The ground outside was dry and, when I turned to check the clock on the wall, I was surprised to see that it was just past six-thirty pm.

And then I remembered what I saw in that picture, Donna's frighteningly awful eyes of... whatever. I shivered at the memory, but my mind was already rationalizing it.

It was most likely an effect of the camera. Some weird variation of redeye. After all, I'd looked deep into her eyes many times by that point, and I'd never seen anything like... like whatever it was I'd seen in the picture. Besides that, I was drunk, and who really knew what I was seeing? It was nothing.

One thing was for sure: I certainly wouldn't be taking a second look.

It may have been the vodka, but I couldn't help smiling about the comedy of errors my smartphone had fallen victim to, though it really wasn't funny. Aside from the inconvenience of being without any form of personal communication until I could get another smartphone, I'd lost a lot of other pics, information in my memo app, the GPS map that I depended on to get around Regina and, not least of which, my contact list.

By the time I felt like getting ready, I'd had another drink and there was no time to get another phone. I'd have to muddle through without one until the next day, inappropriately thanking my Saviour that Regina had Sunday shopping.

Speaking of that, I somehow had the nerve to reconnect with Him on the drive to Major Hurdle's 'Funraiser', begging forgiveness for the unforgivable things I'd been doing lately even though, as Donna had pointed out, I'd already been forgiven for them. And throughout that prayer session, I was deeply bothered by the fact that I somehow felt less Christian. I know, you're thinking that this is because of my confessed behaviour, but it seemed even more than that, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but vaguely worried about as I drove east.

Luckily for my smartphone challenged self, Marilyn Davies had written the address of the Funraiser for me the day before, so shortly after Victoria Avenue turned into the divided highway of the TransCanada, I saw a sign that pointed me in the right direction. Making a truly hair-raising highway crossing against westbound traffic, I found myself on a grid road, soon pulling into my ultimate destination. It was a large, gray structure clad in that sheet metal that looks like ruffle chips.

The clock in my car read nine-twenty-two, which meant that I was twenty-two minutes late. Parking at the rear corner of the potholed lot where a cluster of other cars sat in the red twilight, I got out, suddenly feeling the effects of that day's screwdrivers. I really shouldn't have driven, but I seemed alright when I'd left home, and those drinks were essential in clearing the cotton from my head and the turmoil from my stomach. Also, I needed and wanted the funding that the Major had hinted at, and I wanted to be at my best for this.

As a rudimentary plywood sign indicated, I had to walk around the back of the building, over a gravelled roadway that was half grown in with weeds. It was a little difficult in my regulation heels, but I managed my way to a side door where a thin, post middle aged man with a marked under-bite stood. He was accompanied by a large man standing opposite him who had the face of a bulldog with a bull's body. They both smiled, checking out the pretty young woman in uniform as they directed me inside and up a set of stairs. From the top of the stairwell, I emerged into a long, white hallway with white tiles and a low ceiling. From slightly down and across the hall, I could hear music and conversation emanating from a much lower lit room beyond a set of open, double doors.

Moments later, I stepped through that threshold and into a lounge, somewhat dark and quite cozy with a lot of wood paneling, a dark brown carpet and a low ceiling. A billiards table separated the entry area from a cluster of tables to my immediate left. The end of a long wooden bar with polished brass foot rails was to my right, and old fashioned arcade games studded the walls at random places. It was a long room, appearing to be split in half by a wall to the right, another section accessible by a wide doorway, or the narrow work area behind the bar. Large windows running the length of the wall opposite the entry door allowed the view of a dim lit warehouse beneath.

It was a fair sized crowd for the size of the room, what of it that I could see from where I stood at the entry, and the people in attendance were well dressed, some of them in suits, others in casual wear that suggested success. The women were also well dressed, but some were quite scantily clad, the kind of scantily clad that Donna would vigorously approve of. Most of these were around my age, some even younger and all of them attractive. Most people whose eyes I met smiled silent greetings which I returned, but the more scantily clad girls had reactions that ranged from nervous to respectful. I began moving, looking for Major Hurdle as I approached the passage to the other section of the lounge

The other section housed groups of brown leather couches, chairs and sectionals, overstuffed and very comfy looking. To the left, there was what appeared to be a built on section with a sunken floor that featured an indoor driving range for golfers with one of those projector style screens. The bar continued through the lounge's dividing wall and into this section, all the way to the end wall, against which was a small stage, a wireless microphone on a tall stand it's only current occupant. Beside me and to my right, just past the threshold of the wide doorway, was a table filled with assorted finger foods, a uniformed Major Hurdle standing on the other side of it, smiling with what looked like a rolled up slice of ham in his fingers. He was listening to a thin, balding man in his early fifties who wore a bright yellow polo shirt and gray slacks with a white belt and white shoes. No points for style there.

Hurdle noticed me, doing a double take that allowed his eyes to quickly ogle my body as he smiled a little wider for me, continuing to politely listen to the little man with bad taste in clothing as I approached. When I was close enough, the balding man trailed off, also noticing my presence now, and distracted enough to forget about whatever it was that he was saying. He looked me up and down with wide eyes while the Major began introductions.

"Lieutenant, I was wondering if you'd make it this evening. This is our host, Brant Schlater. Brant, meet Lieutenant Tara Watts."

"Pleased," I politely greeted with a warm smile, wondering who dressed this geek before he left home that evening while his almost bulging eyes drooled all over me.

"The pleasure's all mine," he practically gushed in a 'gee whiz!' tone, holding out his hand with a matching 'gee whiz!' grin.

I was hoping to avoid this, but I took and shook his hand, maintaining my polite smile as he made it one of those annoying, prolonged shakes, assuming, "You probably had trouble finding us."

"A little," I lied. "I'm new to Regina."

"Oh," he said, brows raising in surprise as he continued holding my hand. "In that case, let me welcome you to the city that rhymes with fun."

There seemed to be something to that, something he was waiting for that I wasn't getting and, thankfully, the awkward moment my pause created caused him to let go of my hand.

"Uh, I'm sorry?" I asked, glancing at Major Hurdle, who looked subtly uncomfortable.

"Regina," Schlater pointedly said, waiting again for something from me before adding, "Rhymes with..."

I suddenly got his very inappropriate joke, but I was having fun with this, so I kept pretending to be in the dark. Besides, as a Salvation Army Officer, it was more appropriate for me to stay in the dark until he was forced to either drop it, or come right out and tell me that 'Regina' loosely rhymes with 'Vagina'. He chose to drop it as he had my hand, looking at Hurdle with more than a little discomfort of his own now as I blinked at him with a vapid smile.

"Uh, so, did you drive?" he asked me, clarifying with, "I mean to vag- Regina?"

Okay, I totally deserve an Academy Award for not laughing aloud at that, instead politely replying with, "Yes, I did. It was a really nice drive; I enjoyed it."

The major had turned his face away, pretending to cough while covering his mouth with his hand. Schlater bobbed his head earnestly, looking around to find someone else he needed to talk to. Finding nobody, he nonetheless waved with a bright smile, turning back to me so he could verbally extract himself.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," he told me. "I'm sorry, but I have to go speak with someone about..."

"Business," I supplied.

"Bus- yes, business," he agreed, realizing just a little too late that he'd thoughtlessly grabbed what I'd offered. "It's been nice talking to you," he lied.

I only smiled, nodding a silent reply so I wouldn't have to lie to this greasy little excuse for a man. In my estimation, he wasn't worth that kind of effort and, when he scuttled away, I commented, "He's an idiot."

"(Ahem!) You should keep your voice down, Lieutenant," Hurdle cautioned in a lowered voice of his own, humour tinging the edges of his words. "He happens to be worth at least a million."

In a lowered voice, I replied, "He's still an idiot."

"Of course he is, but he's a reasonably wealthy idiot with an open wallet."

And that's when Dad's sometimes tiresome lectures about Salvation Army politics came home to roost. Now I could see firsthand what he was talking about, and there I was, right in the thick of it myself.

I thought about that, watching the party and trying to decide how I felt about it, wondering if the need for politics wasn't only to be expected for such a high profile charitable organization as the Salvation Army. During this time, I took note that the scantily dressed girls who seemed slightly afraid of me and the Major were actually waitresses, carrying drinks from the bar to the guests.

"Why don't you get yourself a drink?" he suggested.

I was surprised at this, looking up at him to say, "I... don't think that would be appropriate. Would it?"

"Its fine," he said with a benevolent smile.

After a moment's thought, I'd decided I would, but replied with, "Do you feel bad? About what happened yesterday, I mean?"

His sudden expression of discomfort told me that he knew I was referring to his marital status, and he clipped in reply, "That's not your concern, Lieutenant. Go get a drink and mingle."

I looked away, knowing that I'd gone too far, knowing that I never would have had I not had those screwdrivers before I left home that evening, but that didn't stop me from moving to the other section to order another. While I waited, watching the pretty bartender mixing it up, I wondered why I did ask. Was I only curious? Perhaps looking for an insight into the state of his marriage? Maybe I was the one who felt bad for Alessa, despite the fact that I didn't like her. For that matter, where was she? Shouldn't she be here with her husband at a function such as this?

Rather than mingle, I chose to sit there at the bar once I had my screwdriver in hand, suddenly realizing as I took a seat on the tall stool that this was the first time I'd ever actually sat at a bar. I smiled at this, taking a brief look around myself, but my thoughts soon returned to what I'd been thinking about during the drive, the way I felt somehow less Christian.

I asked myself whether or not it might only be my recent behaviour after all, turning that over in my mind as I listened to the conversation of those around me. As much as this would have seemed to be the explanation for my feelings, as much as I would have liked it to be an easy answer to move on from, I knew better.

Because it was more than that. I felt different as a person. Sitting there, I consciously recalled myself, the person I was from the time just before I rolled into the city that rhymes with fun, the way my mind worked, the things it thought about and its priorities. Then, only two weeks ago, I was a young Christian woman, fresh out of CFOT, wanting to help people and to make Major before age thirty. Yes, I had my secret sin, my pornography addiction, but that was self-contained, a safely compartmentalized skeleton that I'd become adept at keeping in its closet, taking it out to run my needy little fingers over it on a regular basis until my guilt and shame forced it back into hiding until the next time I felt the need. And from that had grown my obsession with lingerie, another guilty little secret that I'd skilfully kept hidden away, but hidden away it had remained, along with my porn addiction, never interfering with my life or its goals and, somehow, despite Donna's knowledge of both these things, I felt this still to be the case.

Sitting there at the bar, examining myself anew, I truly couldn't think that my porn addiction, or my lingerie obsession were to blame for my recent, aberrant behaviour, the seedlings of a larger, toxic weed in my life, any more than I could truly believe that I was somehow any less of a Christian. No, the problem was that I had changed as a person and, while my faith was still strong, while I still had those lofty goals connected to that faith, there was more to Tara Watts now. These things were no longer the end-all-be-all of my life. I was growing as a person and, likely, it was the move to Regina itself that had caused it, suddenly living on my own without an authority structure above my actions, such as my parents, or the necessarily structured behaviour patterns of CFOT. I was spreading my young wings, and that was normal.

I smiled at this, happy that I was okay, that I'd worked this out, noting at the same time that I really liked alcohol. Casting my mind back to the previous evening, I remembered how it had slowly turned my mindset from desperate shame at what I'd done to excited shock and wonderment, how it helped me get on the phone to Donna, telling her all about my shameful experience in Major Hurdle's office with a note of pride that it had been me who'd been so daring, me that lived a scene out of a porn video, not some actor I was living vicariously through. Actually me.

And that morning when I awoke, even with my hangover, that wild grin remained along with the residual effects of the drinks I'd had the night before until it began to wear off, leaving me with only increasing shock and guilt until I administered some of the hair of the dog that had bitten me the night before. It began chasing those demons away, slowly replacing them, infilling the vacancies their retreat had created with that warm, giddy feeling of wellbeing until I was happy and horny again, young and alive.

And there I sat, replenishing that feeling that had begun to abate, a satisfied smile on my face while I felt alright with the world. I was completely surrounded by absolutely nobody that I knew, but I was still alright. I was contented and feeling a different me emerge, another person, another Tara Watts that had no doubts, no hang-ups and no questions of how to deal with herself, her life, or the other people infesting it. And I liked her. She was a lot like Donna.

Still, I had to watch myself, noting that to be sitting in a bar, drinking while wearing my uniform probably wasn't a good thing. I'd admonished myself the night before as well for having actually gone to the liquor store while still wearing it. Of course, I was a little distraught then. I would have to set up some ground rules, slightly rearrange my life for this new interest as I had for pornography and managing my lingerie collection. That was all.

As for my recent, carnal behaviour, I was still caught between the shameful fact that I enjoyed it and the fact that I knew it was wrong. But, it was that this behaviour was entangled so closely with my professional life that had me worried. If I wasn't careful, I could ruin everything I'd ever wanted for myself, had worked so hard and long for.

And chief among these dangerous behaviours was that which I'd enjoyed In Major Hurdle's office. Where did he fit in? Why was I allowing these incidents with him to happen? Did I have feelings for him? Just a wild crush? An infatuation with a married Officer that allowed him to abuse his authority over me? I mean, how far did his threat over mine and my parent's careers really go where my cooperation with him was concerned? And what did I expect from him? That he'd take me as a mistress? Divorce his wife and marry me?

I snickered at the foolishness of this last thought, taking another sip of my screwdriver as I reminded myself of the Army's regulations concerning such things. The Major would never throw his career away for me. Would he? Would I throw mine away for him? I couldn't see it. So, what was my game with him? Perhaps more importantly, what was his game with me?

"Oh, hello, Lieutenant."

I started at the sound of another familiar voice, turning to my right to find Marilyn Davies standing beside me. She wore an odd expression that I couldn't quite identify as she looked at me. It was almost as though this was the first time she'd met me and, before this, only knew me from reputation. I didn't think much of it at the time. The thin Hostel Coordinator looked good in her snug fitting, pinstriped black slacks and matching underbust vest, though her clingy white, long sleeve top allowed more cleavage than what I would have expected from her. Regrettably, I did take a peek down her top, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Hello, Marilyn. Nice to see another familiar face."

"Well, I was just so happy when the Major told me you'd be attending tonight," she said. "I'm expecting this to be our most successful Funraiser yet."

"Why is that?" I asked, wondering if she dyed her hair to its deep shade of auburn.

"Men do love an attractive woman in uniform," she said, glancing at my attire.

"I get that reaction at times," I chuckled at her compliment, "but I doubt it's worth that much money."

"Don't sell yourself short, Lieutenant," she said with a wink, "I know I wouldn't. So, are you having a good time?"

"Yes, I am," I replied. "Believe it or not, this is the first time I've ever been to a bar."