The Mark of the Immature Man Ch. 01

"I'm sorry, Tina! This is all my fault! I can't believe I left you alone to deal with him. That was so wrong of me to run and hide!"

"Do you think it would have made more sense to antagonize that idiot? Jesus, Evan, you're pretty fucking naïve if you think that showing your face would have helped the situation! Besides, that piece of shit is the world's biggest coward. He was afraid of a fucking little baby!" I don't think that at the time, I even heard that line, nor did I understand its deep psychological implications.

"Tina, he had a gun...!"

My argument was interrupted by a knock at the door and an authoritarian voice, "Rochester Police Department. We have a report of domestic abuse at this address. Is everyone inside okay?"

Tina motioned me to the bedroom, and then responded in a loud voice, "Yes, everything is okay; he just left. Excuse me just a moment. I'll be right there." She'd shooed me into the room, pushed me into the closet and before closing the door, she whispered emphatically, "Don't make a sound, and don't come out!" Like I said earlier, I had already learned to obey my elders, so I did as I was told. Then, I could hear her turn back toward the kitchen and open the door to two RPD officers.

"Hello, officers. Thank you for coming. He just left. He heard your sirens, and he took off running."

"How long ago?"

"Maybe two minutes."

"What does he look like?

"He's white, about six feet tall, short, dark hair. He was wearing a gray jacket."

"Which way was he headed?" asked one of the officers.

"That way – toward the back of the apartment complex," she said apparently pointing out the window.

"Was he on foot or in a car?"

"He was on foot, but I suspect his car was parked nearby somewhere. Oh, and you should know, he had a gun."

"I'll pursue," I heard one of the officers say when he heard the word "gun," and then I heard the door close, and the other cop started asking Tina questions.

"Who was the suspect, ma'am?" My thoughts immediately turned to that first day that I met Tina. I half expected her to tell him that she'd answer his questions provided that he never again referred to her as "ma'am." But she didn't say that.

"My husband, but I've filed for divorce; I won't be married to him for much longer, not a second longer if I have anything to say about it. I moved into this apartment to get away from him."

"What is your husband's name, ma'am?"

"Justin Roche, R-O-C-H-E."

"Why did Mr. Roche come here, ma'am?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know, but I assume because he's angry that I left him."

"If you don't mind my asking, ma'am, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but why did you leave him?"

"Because he was having an affair!" she said angrily. "He's had numerous affairs, and this wasn't the first time that I had caught him. Besides, I stopped loving him a long time ago."

"Has he ever been abusive before today?

"Not so much physically, but verbally and psychologically all the time. He can be very nasty."

"The dispatcher informed us that he was threatening violence. Is that true, and if so, was he threatening you? What did he say?"

"Yes, he said he would break down the door if I didn't open it and talk to him. He said he would kill me. And like I said, officer, he was carrying a gun, a handgun." I didn't hear anything for a long time, and I imagined that the cop was writing down what he'd heard.

"What kind of a gun, ma'am?

"Like I said, it was a handgun, something automatic or, actually I guess, those are semi-automatic. I don't know anything about guns, so I don't know what make of gun it was, but I had never seen it before, and I don't believe my husband owned that gun while we were together. He's a hunter, but he never owned any handguns that I know of. I think it's new." Again, there was a long pause.

"During the time he was here, did he ever point the gun at you?"

"No, not that I know of. But the only time I saw him was when he approached the living room window, after he was banging on the door for 10 minutes. I didn't see him when he was banging on the door and screaming, so I don't know what he was doing with the gun at that time."

"Was there anyone else besides you in the apartment when the suspect arrived... anyone else besides you that he was threatening, or anybody else he pointed the gun at?" I held my breath. I was afraid that I was about to be pulled into the middle of something that could become ugly, really ugly.

"No." I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do you have a restraining order against the suspect?"

"No."

"It's not my place to say this, ma'am, but I might recommend that you get one, and get it as soon as possible."

"Did the suspect do any damage to the apartment or any area outside the apartment?

"No, not that I'm aware of. Like I said, he never made it inside. I had the door locked, and he was pounding on it for a long time. I thought he might break it down, and he probably would have if you had not arrived when you did. You scared him away."

"Do you mind if I have a quick look around, ma'am?"

"No, help yourself." I held my breath again, especially when I heard the officer take a couple of steps into the bedroom where I was hiding. I held my breath, but I was afraid he could hear my heart pounding out of my chest. Apparently, he didn't see anything unusual and left a moment later. A minute or two after that, there was another knock at the door, and apparently the other officer had returned.

I heard the door open. "Did you see anything?" I heard the one cop say to the other.

"No, like the lady said, he must have left in his car. I didn't think I'd find him. He was probably long gone before I even started looking." There was a long pause.

"Do you know your neighbors, ma'am? Is there someone that we can talk to that might be able to corroborate what you've told us?"

"I don't know any of my neighbors. Remember, I just moved in about a month ago, so I have no idea whether they're around or not or, if they are, whether they heard anything. I don't know how they couldn't have, but you'd have to ask them. I should mention that the dispatcher heard my husband threatening me when I placed the call, so you could talk to her, and those calls are taped, aren't they?"

"That's right! I'd forgotten that. Okay, well, we will look into that corroborating evidence. What is the suspect's address? If he returns to his home, we can apprehend him there."

"1960 Olive Drive, here in Rochester." There was more silence, and I suspected that the cop was taking more notes.

"Well, that's about everything, but, I'm sorry to say, ma'am, other than going to the suspect's residence to see if we can speak to him, there's not much more that we can do right now. I'll check with my captain to find out if he wants us to do that. I'm guessing he won't." That made no sense to me at all, but I was quickly learning that cops really don't like getting involved in domestic cases.

The cop continued. "However, if the suspect returns, be sure to call us again immediately, and, ma'am, like I said earlier, I would recommend that you file a restraining order." I was beginning to see how this worked. A restraining order gave the cops a clear-cut reason to make an arrest, something they were hesitant to do in a he-said, she-said domestic abuse case. Apparently, they'd already forgotten that they had a tape recording of Tina's husband threatening to kill her.

"I'll make a note in my report that I spoke to you about the restraining order, and if your attorney does file a request for an order, my report can be cited as evidence. Have a good day, ma'am, and be careful."

"Thank you. I will. You too." I heard the resignation in Tina's voice, and then the door closed, and seconds later, she returned to the bedroom and opened the closet, so I could step out.

I was more than impressed with the way in which Tina had handled the entire situation, especially her conversation with the cops, but I was concerned that she had lied to them about me being there. I could tell by the look on her face that that was the last thing on her mind. We walked into the living room. Then, Tina closed the blinds, and we both sat down on the couch, facing each other.

"Tina, do you think the cops heard me?"

"Of course not, but what difference does that make?"

"You told them that there was no one else here. If they know that you were lying about that, maybe they won't believe anything else that you told them."

"He looked around. He didn't see you. Besides, this whole thing is over as far as they're concerned. He'll file his stupid report, and it won't mean a thing. The only thing that might come of this is if I would do what he suggested and try to get a restraining order against Justin, but you know, Evan, a piece of fucking paper doesn't do a damn thing to protect a woman if a man wants to hurt her. I've seen it happen to too many other women. He'll be back, no matter what I do or don't do."

"Well, next time, he'll have to deal with me!" I knew when I said it that I appeared incredibly stupid and naive, and coming from the lips of an 18 year-old, I'm sure it sounded really immature, but I was serious, and I wanted more than anything to redeem myself after my sorry behavior.

"Deal with you! What are you going to do, Evan, get a gun?" she said scoffing at me. "Maybe the two of you can have a shootout in my apartment! I can't tell you how much that comforts me!" she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. She was staring at me like I was the stupidest kid in the entire class.

"Tina, I promise – I'll protect you. I'm not hiding anymore." Again, even before the words left my mouth, I understood how absurd and sentimental I must have appeared – spewing syrupy, maudlin sop, the kind of stuff that Hollywood hacks wrote for bad, afternoon television dramas that really idiotic schmucks always seemed to be watching. I used to make fun of those kinds of people.

"Evan, I know Justin, and I know that he'd hurt you if he could. I can't tell you how badly I felt, when after five years of marriage, I came to realize that he was a really nasty person, mean for the sake of being mean. As long as he doesn't know anything about you, you're safe. There is no reason in the world for you to confront him, and if you do, there are a million reasons for him to want to retaliate, and if he does, he's dangerous!"

"I'm not afraid of him, Tina, and I want to protect you!" She shook her head; there was no point in my launching into another contrived explanation of my idealized brand of pseudo-bravery. I could tell she was kind of exasperated with me, and I guess I knew why.

Then, her expression changed again, and she was back to being the Tina that I was falling in love with – the sweet, loving Tina. I could tell she was thinking about something.

After a few seconds, she smiled and said, "Sweetie, do you remember the conversation we had a month and half ago about The Catcher in the Rye? We both said it was our favorite book, right?"

"Yeah, it's great, but, Tina, what does that have to do...?"

"Do you remember that scene toward the end of the book where Holden is at his former teacher's apartment – his name was Mr. Antolini, I think – anyway, Mr. Antolini or whatever the guy's name was, is talking to him about getting kicked out of Pencey Prep, right? Anyway, he quotes this psychologist, somebody named Wilhelm Stekel or something, and the quotation goes like this, "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one."

"Yeah, I remember it really well. I think it's my favorite part of the book, 'cause Holden is suicidal at that point, and Mr. Antolini somehow almost instinctively knows that, and he's trying to convince Holden that suicide is ultimately an immature answer to a person's problems. Yeah, it's a great line, but if I recall correctly, Mr. Antolini has misquoted Stekel, and I don't think Stekel was even the one who originally said that, right?"

"I don't know about that, Evan," she said gently, but again I could tell that she was somehow frustrated with me. I had missed her point.

"What are you trying to say, Tina? I get the funny feeling that somewhere in this literary discussion there's some advice that's about to be delivered. Why don't you come right out with it?"

"Okay, sweetie, I'm sorry if I'm being abstruse. Evan, I like you an awful lot. And I can't deny that I might be falling in love with you. You've got so much to offer – you're really bright, and you're fun to talk to. You've got a great sense of humor." For some reason, her words reminded me of that first night we spent together at the Double Tree – when I was trying to reassure her that she was incredibly desirable and beautiful. Only now the roles were reversed yet again.

"And, Evan, I've never been with a man who was a better lover than you, and your lovemaking has everything to do with your overall capacity to love other people, your kindness, gentleness, and generosity of spirit. You're so good in bed, such a natural lover, because you want so much to please the other person. And, I now realize that pleasing me physically and sexually was always about pleasing me intellectually and emotionally too." She paused. I wasn't sure I was following her, but I understood enough to know that this was the prelude to a polite brush-off.

"But...? Come on, Tina, this where you tell me to get lost, right? This is where you remind me that we can never be together because I'm too young and immature, and you need to find someone closer to your own age, and we both need to be practical, and...."

"No, it's not!"

She scooted closer to me, and leaned in to hug me, her huge breasts pushed up against my chest. When she was done holding me like that for a few seconds, she held me by my shoulders with both hands, just like I had done to her when she fell off the stool the first day I met her. And then she became very serious, just like the night back at the Double Tree.

"Evan, you're being like Holden right now. You think that it would somehow be noble of you to defend me against my husband, and if you do that, Evan, you might very well end up badly hurt or worse, and I care far too much for you to stand idly by and let that happen!"

"So, I'm being immature if I want to protect you from a man that came after you with a gun today, huh?"

"Yes." She paused for a long time. I could tell she was getting to her larger point. "Evan, you're 18 years old. In a couple of weeks, you're headed off to college, what are you planning to do about our relationship when that time comes?" She had clearly exposed the crux of the matter. She had this look on her face, like she'd just said, "checkmate."

"Well, ah, I'm... I'm... Tina, I'll only be an hour and a half away in the Cities. I figured I'd see you every weekend." I think I was trying to convince myself, but I soon began to realize that she was right – I hadn't even begun to think about what would happened between Tina and me after I left for school. I had been entirely consumed with exploring the sheer joy of loving this incredibly beautiful woman. My brain had been deactivated. I had been doing all of my thinking with my dick and my heart.

Then, I had an impulsive and probably ridiculous thought. "Or maybe, I won't go to school after all. I could keep working at the lab. It's not that bad of a job."

"Evan, you're talking stupidly now – can't you see that in some sort of metaphorical way you're trying 'to die nobly for a cause,' when going to college, making something of yourself, realizing your true potential is living 'humbly for one?' Besides, Evan, I'm a woman; I don't want to be 'a cause.'"

"But, Tina, I'm falling in love with you! I can't get you out of my mind."

"Evan, I'm not saying that I don't feel the same way about you. I can't even comprehend how incredible it is that I'm falling for someone that's 25 years younger than I am. But, Evan, right now, I need to divorce my husband and you need go to college and become whatever you want to become. It would be unfair to both of us, if we don't allow ourselves to address our most basic and immediate needs."

I knew she right, but knowing that she was right, didn't make accepting what she had said any easier. I wasn't just falling in love with her; I lusted for her, yearned to be inside her, and because Tina always knew what I wanted and needed without me ever having to say it, she understood instinctively that at that very moment, we needed to have sex. So, we put the most significant discussion of our lives aside for the moment, both of us, I believe, confident that we would return to it sometime in the very near future, and without saying anything, she grasped me by my hand and led me back to the bedroom.

I think we both understood that there was at least a chance that Tina's fucking husband could come back at any time, and I knew that she was right when she had said that it was only a matter of time before he returned. So, making love in that bedroom in the middle of the day was not only just a little dangerous, it was an act of defiance. To effect at least some degree of precaution, Tina closed the bedroom windows and blinds and pulled the curtains shut. It was hot outside, and so she turned the air conditioning on, which served to reasonably dampen any sound that might leak outside. I closed the bedroom door behind us, and we climbed atop Tina's bed.

Maybe fearing for one's life causes such things – I certainly don't know for sure, but there was an urgency to our sexual intercourse that day that simply hadn't revealed itself previously, and though I had no way of knowing it then, it was to be our last time together.

Whatever it was, there was nothing leisurely or relaxed about our lovemaking that afternoon. Truth be told, it couldn't even really be described as lovemaking – it was fucking, pure and simple.

We started by ripping each other's clothes off as fast as they could reasonably be removed. Then, I went down on Tina's pussy. I started, as I usually did, by running my tongue up and down her lips, adding as much saliva as possible. Then, using my fingers to spread her flowery petals, I started tongue-fucking her, like I did that first night at the Double Tree.

One of the first things that I learned about Tina's sexual preferences is that she really liked to be tongue-fucked. So when I spread her lips as wide open as I did with the fingers on both of my hands, my tongue could penetrate at least two inches into her hole, producing an incredible amount of creamy arousal, and some erotic encouragement, "Oh baby, I love when you tongue-fuck me! You get me so hot! Oh my god, you're getting so deep inside me! Oh fuck, that's good!"

But once I had her good and lathered up, I replaced my tongue with two fingers and went to work on her G-spot, wiggling my index and middle digits inside her as if I was urging her closer. I didn't even know what a G-spot was before my first night with Tina, but I quickly learned that another one of Tina's preferences was for me to couple my stimulation of that rough, walnut-like tissue on the inside of her pussy with my oral caresses of her clitoris. It was the fastest way to bring her to climax.

And that afternoon, I got her there in short order. Using my left hand to continue to spread her lips wide while I was fingering her trigger spot with the other, I began lashing her clit with the very tip of my tongue, and intermittently sucking her pink bud into my mouth while continuing my oral assault with my darting lance. It didn't take me more than a couple of minutes before Tina was grabbing pretty much anything that she could in her fists: my hair, the headboard of the bed, and handfuls of sheets, grinding her hips against my face and hands, and groaning long and loud, "Oh no! Oh! Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Evan, oh my god! Evan, oh no... don't.... Oh my god, Evan! Oh, Jesus! Oh no! Evan! Oooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"