The Day I Met Connie Brown

Stop making crazy shit up, I thought, tossing in the bed. But the whole thing was already crazy. It didn't seemed like such a stretch any more that the poor thing would indulge into a phantasy to finally be himself. Or herself, should I rather say? What if there was only one Mrs. Constance Brown, and it was this delightful creature of mine, recognized by no one, supported by no one, ashamed to show herself?

She shouldn't be and I'll prove it, I thought, jumping out of the bed. I fired up my laptop and went shopping.

*

Two days later I stood in the clearing, next to the parked car, nervously smoking and squeezing a paper bag in my hand. I knew Connie would be there soon and the closer that moment became, the less sure I felt that this all was not a really stupid idea. When he appeared between the trees, I had the urge to toss the bag into the forest before he'd have a chance to spot it.

He trotted up to me--he was dressed for jogging and apparently ran all the way here--and gave me one of his smiles. "Hey."

"Hey, hello," I cleared my throat and crumpled the bag between my fingers. Then I pushed it up and between us. "I have something for you."

Connie took it, wrinkling his forehead; he parted the opening of the bag and put his hand inside. I held my breath as my lover examined a bright-red, lace tong and bra that I've bought for him. His brows travelled up, his eyes became big like fucking jeep wheels, even his lip drooped a little.

"Should I put it on now?"

"Oh, no," I laughed, feeling as if a ton of air would escape from my chest. "Oh God, Connie, no, not now."

He laughed as well and put the underwear back into the bag; then his face became serious. "I have nothing for you."

"Well," I said, resting my back on a tree and pushing my crotch slightly forward "there is a traditional way to repay your boyfriend for getting you a present."

In a second I had him on his knees and was enjoying another one of his bad blowjobs. I pushed harder this time and he had to stop to cough a few times. Even that I've found charming, a little sign of innocence; I grabbed the back of his neck and pushed myself in his throat until my balls were pressing on his lower lip. I came with my fingers in his curls.

I remembered all too well what happened last time we were here and resolved to not let him go. While he was still rasping and trying to even out his breath I threw off my trousers and sat next to him on the grass. I undressed him, fast, and he complied, rising his hands up to help me slip his t-shirt off. Then I pulled him on top of me, his ass touching my stomach. I squeezed all the lube I've brought with me into my palm, smeared it onto his crack and fingered him.

I started with one finger, but already then I had to pull Connie's face towards me and start kissing him to muffle the moans--he was enjoying himself so much I feared he might attract attention, remote as the place was. I added a second finger and he started riding my hand himself, and I had to put and arm around his waist to steady him. He arched his back and I managed to catch his nipple into my mouth; at the same time his bursting cock came full into my view.

By then I was half-hard again. I took my fingers out and slid into him. Connie made a sound so high-pitched it had to scare animals few kilometers around us; then he ground his ass into my groin. It was my turn to gasp and I did for quite some time as Connie rode my dick. I had to lean on the tree trunk to not fall over; he was ramming into me so furiously that I got my back scraped raw on the bark. I felt I'm going to come, so I reached around and started jerking him off. In a few moments he flexed and thrust his hips once more, and I will never forget this sound, the sound of heavy, oily drops spattering on the vegetation, soft, but so profound I could see in front of my closed eyes the moist dripping, glistening on fleshy leaves.

*

I was unrestful the next couple of days. I've slept badly and jumped up every time I've heard the phone; one time I've hung up on a client, furious when I discovered it wasn't Connie that was calling. It was really stupid, since Connie never actually called me, we only ever texted, not to mention the gigs were still quite scarce. In the need of distraction, I've started to do renovations on my own house, but soon discovered that once I start a project I never have the heart to carry it to the end. It was quite unlike me and, deep inside, I started to worry. More outwardly, I became irritated at Connie for writing very little. Fucking cocktease, I thought, straining my ears for the text message sound. When it finally rung, all my anger was gone in a second. Connie was writing that the wife will be gone for a few days and we could spend the weekend together.

*

The third time I was walking through that small, crappy, suburban front lawn it felt like the angles themselves would be carrying me to the door. Maybe I've anticipated something special, maybe it was just the thought of having Connie for myself for hours on end; whichever it was, I've made it to the front of the house in two leaps. The door opened, slowly, but I didn't see anyone. I went in and looked around, perplexed.

I noticed Connie when he shut the door behind me. He was pressed to the wall, smiling shyly and looking at me from under long, black lashes. I could not make a move, let alone say anything for a few seconds.

Connie was wearing make-up, applied neatly and carefully to his face, like he'd spend a long time perfecting it. He did something to his hair too, they were wavy and somehow seemed longer. His dress was better fitted this time, red, matching his lipstick, clinging to his body like a wet paper towel. I've spotted the lace of the bra pressing through under the fabric and knowing he had it on was like licking a battery. The only thing that was missing were high heels, and his feet were bare, but I've hardly registered that. I don't think anything would manage to spoil for me the singular certainty that I've finally met the real Constance Brown.

"Hello," he said, sweetly.

"Hello Connie," I've managed to mumble out.

"Should we have something to drink?"

He led us out of the corridor. Everything was arranged and we drunk wine out of big glasses. I've couldn't get my eyes off him and he giggled and blushed, and bit his lip. I didn't want to wait till we'd killed the bottle, or even finish what was in our hands.

"You know," I said "I was thinking, it's about time I've tried out that bed. I did carry it here on my own back, after all."

We went upstairs, Connie climbing in front of me. He was rocking his hips, it was so hot it was crazy, it's giving me a hard on even now when I think about it, although I hate myself for that. We reached the bedroom and he faced me. I slid the dress and the bra-strap off one of his shoulders until the breast was exposed. I sucked on it, listening to him moan. Then I've let him blowjob ma a little, but mostly to look at his painted lips around the base of my cock. It was too much and I pulled him back to his legs, then ripped off the dress. Standing in front of me naked, save from the semi-transparent scraps on his chest and sex he looked absolute perfection.

I put him on the bed and got on myself. He sucked me off while I teased his dick and balls through the lace. I pulled the tong aside and fingered him.

"It's too good," I gasped into his crotch.

Connie scrambled to his knees. He put my head on the pillows and straddled my hips. A second later he was lowering himself on my dick. I held his hips and rubbed his nipples and looked at his red, parted lips, fluttering eyelashes, and I knew I will explode very soon.

I pulled his face down to mine. "Turn around. I want to watch it go in and out of you."

He got up and around in one move. My dick fell out of him; I took it in my hand and grabbed a handful of his ass with the other, and started to guide myself in again. But something was wrong. Connie was frozen. His back loomed over me, rigid, and his hands fell, hanging on the sides. I propped myself on my elbow and craned my neck to see past him.

If I wouldn't know he was married, I would still guess this was the wife. It was the look on her face--the horror, but with a hint of furious triumph in her slanted eyes, as she would just find proof of what she suspected for a long time. I could just gape at her with an open mouth, but that, fortunately, didn't have to last very long. She turned around and disappeared from the doorway in a blink.

For a second there was a stillness that made me think that maybe it was all some kind of hallucination. Then Connie rushed off me so abruptly that he almost fell on the floor.

"I'm afraid I have to go and take care of this," he smiled at me stupidly, searching for his clothes.

He picked up the dress and threw it back on the ground, cursing. He run to the closet, pulled out some sweats and a t-shirt. He threw these on and run out of the room--I heard his feet rumble down the stairs.

I lied there, shocked, I can very well fucking imagine still holding my limp dick in my hand. Then I got up, slowly, and started to get dressed. I don't know what I was thinking, maybe I somehow hoped that Connie will appear back, that it will all not be so terrible in the end, but, of course, no one came.

I laced my shoes and went out to the staircase. I climbed down, putting my feet down carefully enough to not raise dust from the panels. When I was passing through the corridor to the front door, I raised my eyes and glanced inside the living room. Mrs. Brown was sitting at the table with her back to me, sobbing. Connie was leaning over her, makeup smeared under his eyes and in the corners of his lips, trying to tell her something in a low voice. I reached the door and left the house without making a sound.

*

I imagined that there would be no contact between us in the days that followed, or anyway before Connie sorted things out in his life, and knew I'd have to suck it up and wait. I suffered, of course. I tried to tell myself that it's maybe better, the way it happened, that the wife will dump him and it will be a straight road from there. God help me, I've told myself that he had ended up with the shorter straw.

*

I was going out for a gig, walking to my van, when I saw her on the other side of the street. Connie's wife was leaning on the side of her parked car, smoking, looking right at me. She'd obviously been stalking the place until she could catch me come out. Oh fuck, I thought, this is turning into a fucking soap; but I saw no other thing to do than to go and meet her.

As I crossed the street I couldn't help taking a better look at her. She was a small, thin woman, quite young, despite my earlier suspicions. Her clothes and makeup were tasteful and looked expensive, but did little to mask that she was very plain. It made me a little queasy when I realized that I've seen the lipstick before--on Connie.

"Mrs. Brown?" I've started, standing at an awkward distance from her.

"Mrs. Constance Brown, for you." The voice sounded even stiffer than I've remembered.

"How did you find me?"

"It was really not difficult."

"So... he told you? Who I am?"

"He always tells me, in time."

I didn't know what to answer to that and we stood in silence for a moment during which Mrs. Brown did not for once stop drilling me with her eyes. I was starting to get really nervous--it felt less and less like she would be there to cry and ask me to guide her through her husbands coming out.

"I suppose I could thank you, actually," she finally said, lighting another cigarette. "Now I know it's not only secretaries or waitresses I have to watch out for."

"Mrs. Brown," I said, clearing my throat, "I don't think you realize..."

"And what, you do?" She interrupted me. "You think you know him? Listen to me, boy, I know Connie since we were both out of diapers. I know him better than any of you could. You imagine you can give him what he needs? I have resources you whores could never dream of. That's why he comes back to me, every time. The only difference here is that the other ones were women. And, yes, that I've actually caught you two at it," she teared up. It felt like she could take out a powder box and start correcting her makeup; she didn't.

"Why are you with him?" I uttered.

She momentarily got red on her face. "Because I also deserve something!" She barked at me, then quickly composed herself. "I wouldn't ask someone like you to understand."

Her outburst made me to make a step back. "Why are you here?" I asked.

"Good question," she scoffed "I don't know. Maybe it's because you're a man. Because maybe you think that I find this kind of thing amusing." She looked at me with such hatred as to ensure I could never think that.

"But, no," she continued, before I could say anything "probably it's just came to that, that you're the only person I can tell that it's actually going so much better with Connie--by the way of telling you to stay the hell away from him. Because he's doing so much better."

"He is?" I said, very slowly.

"Oh yes!" She got animated. "There was barely anyone in the past half a year. And then we moved here and I really thought that that was it... then you came along, of course," she gave me the murderous look again. "No matter. I'm sure it will be all fine. For sure when there will be a baby, anyway."

"Baby." I repeated so weakly I can't be sure she'd heard me.

"Well, not that this is any business of yours," she threw the cigarette bud on the pavement and turned towards the door of her car "I've said what needed to be said--stay away from my husband. He doesn't need this in his life." She got in and slammed the doors.

I moved to let her drive away. She didn't look once at me any more, but I couldn't keep my eyes off her face till it was not possible any more. Then I run back to my house and called the gig off.

*

Since then I was like in a fever. All I could do was to ponder about the house, telephone always in hand, looking at the screen every couple of seconds. I almost wrote to him few times, out of desperation, but--thank fucking God--always put the phone down. Of course, the wife would be screening his messages, the woman was completely nuts. I had no way of communicating with him. I couldn't do anything, save for barging into his house and carrying him out. So I've waited, impotently, every hour longer, every day more dreadful.

*

I couldn't tell why I was out of the house. I don't fucking remember where I was going. I know only that I was in my van, driving along the suburbia when I saw him. I couldn't believe it at first, but there he was, strolling about in his sweats. I braked hard and drove onto the sidewalk in front of him.

I got out in a sprint and practically run towards him. Connie looked startled, but he relaxed when he saw me.

"Oh, it's you," he laughed.

"Connie," I panted "are you alright?"

He looked at me so puzzled I was ready to think that I've lost my mind.

"Sure, I'm fine." He chuckled again and looked at me wrinkling his nose. "I probably should've come and talk to you, huh? Just, things were tense at home the last couple of days, you know?"

I couldn't say I understood anything, I just heard words.

"I'm sorry that we had to..." he swirled his hand in the air "finish so abruptly last time. It wasn't really pretty, I know. I just really didn't think Rosie would be back."

"Rosie?" I echoed mindlessly.

"You really shouldn't think bad about her by the way. Rosie's a good girl, she just can get really emotional about stuff. Drama queen, huh, you know what I mean?"

When I didn't say anything Connie's eyes became a bit nervous. He leaned towards me.

"You do understand we can't see each other any more, right?" he said in a lowered voice. "Look, I really loved what we were doing and, God, you taught me so much I will never be done being grateful, but...."

"You like your marriage." I said flatly.

Connie snortled at this. "Well, of course I like it," he covered his mouth with his hand, giggling. "I mean, sure, it has its ups and downs. No marriage will ever be perfect, right? But you know, like they say, fault is never on one side. Probably Rosie is right that I should settle a bit. She wants a kid, you know?"

I felt sick to my stomach. "You're going to do it?"

"Sounds crazy, right?" He laughed. "But then, most people get them at some point. And, in the end, Rosie's usually right about what's good for me. Wives are like that." He slapped me lightly on the shoulder, as in a realization. "You know, you should get married! You'd see, it makes some things so much easier."

I nodded, not saying a word.

"We're all right, then?" A most joyful smile sprang up to his lips "Well, I guess I'll see you around,..." his voice faded and he furrowed his brow. "Wait, do I even know your name?"

"Rowan," I heard my voice, perfectly colorless. "It's Rowan."

"Wow," Connie shook his head. "I guess that's what I really loved about us. We didn't need all these things, eh?" He laughed again. "Goodbye, Rowan."

"Goodbye, Connie," I said, but he was already turning around.

I stood, looking at his back as it moved away from me. I turned too, got into my car. I think I started sweating before I turned the key. I drove forward, took turns--it's a miracle I didn't hit anyone on the way. By the time I got to the forest I could barely see through the tears.

I took the turn instinctively. I drove over the roots and grooves too fast and the car jumped and shook, but it barely registered with me. I got to the groove. I cut off the engine and the airco died. Now I'm sitting here, barely able to take a breath. I can't look at the dripping leaves outside. I press on the wheel with my forehead, biting down on my fist, but the sobs are to strong, they boil up and push through my throat, and I start to wail.