Waiting

"In the meantime I cannot sit here doing nothing! I would like go crazy with imagining what will happen. I am going to key in everything. It'll be like my blog, but just for me and hopefully the police when I get to the embassy. Just don't let it be found by the cleaning bitches! Typing will be like something to do."

"How I wish in my blog I hadn't been so careful to protect David's anonymity. I described our affair but you could never figure out who he is. My photographer took his place. The police looking at it trying to trace me will find it no guide to reality."

"Here is what happened. I'm going to just like let my memories come, I am going to keep my mind as blank as possible. I don't want to think or know."

The girl glances at the scrollbar. She is only a fraction into the document. She stands and carries the laptop to the table. She plugs its power into a wall socket behind a stand of grassy flowering plants. The little wooden babies hidden in the foliage stare at her. Up close they are weird, their round heads and painted features almost feral.

She sits at the table. Her reflection through the netting of the table cloth is so soft, her hair sways about her. The edge of the netting rests stiff on her thighs. She turns her attention back to the document and reads:

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It started like six, well seven now, years ago.

I'd just watched "Nobel House", all six tapes of it. It'd been raining all day and my Uncle David had made us watch it and I'll admit it'd been like OK. My cousin Celeste had sat through like 10 seconds of it, yawned and said in a loud voice, "This is as boring as shit," and slouched out, but I'd thought it way thrilling. After it was over I'd slipped away to be by myself. I was walking back and forth, eyes closed, imagining myself a cute Chinese girl under the protection of a rich and powerful tai-pen. Just when things were getting good, I bumped into someone who hadn't been there a second ago. I opened my eyes.

My Uncle David stood over me looking down.

My mouth fell open. I like totally freaked. I couldn't move or say a thing.

He goes, "Your mother has been looking for you for half an hour. She wants you." Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

My Uncle David'd rented this big house on the shore and the whole family had gathered. The place was packed, I had to share a room with my cousin Celeste, my little sister Rose and some other girl I can't remember. Celeste was 4 years older than me and way surly. Rose was a pain and I can't remember who the other girl was, maybe my cousin Shelley. It's like not important.

The idea was that we were all going to spend our days on the beach and eat lots of seafood and have bonfires at night and be treated by my Uncle David and bond as a family. My mother was a little bit hard up since the divorce and she hoped to get something out of David.

All this might been OK a year before but about then I was feeling like totally antisocial and wanted to spend all my time by myself. I told myself this was because I was like totally unhappy and because my life was a piece of shit. Really it was because I thought everyone around me was like so stupid and when given the chance and not bothered I could imagine myself in all kinds of romantic situations, not at all like being at the beach with a bunch of cousins and aunts and uncles and sisters and mothers.

At that beach house there was like no place to be by yourself. That shared bedroom was out. There was always some commotion or another. Any of the bathrooms, somebody'd start banging on the door just when I got to the good part in my fantasy. The beach was crowded and like sandy. I was just feeling so closed in.

Then I realized Uncle David had a room to himself, the only one who wasn't sharing. I started slipping in there. Sometimes I'd pace about the little room, sometimes I'd sit on the floor with my back to the bed, sitting on the bed seemed like invasive and so I just sat, and closed my eyes. All the while placing myself in some adventure located any place foreign.

Uncle David was a figure of romance in my family. He'd been drafted and gone to Vietnam. Instead of coming home he'd managed to stay out there. When he did come back, some 10 years later, he was rich. Then he formed a company with some other guys and made even more money. He and his wife had just split. My mother said that was all for the best, she'd always suspected Ruth (his wife) of bad mouthing his relations.

Well, I got myself downstairs in a hurry. I figured he'd be telling my mother. My mother was then going to lecture me on consideration and women's issues and who knows what until she was blue in the face and I was like frozen with boredom.

That didn't happen. She couldn't remember what she'd wanted me for originally. Now she wanted me and Rose to come shopping with her. She whispered in my ear that our Uncle David'd given her her birthday present early so she could get Rose, herself and me some nice things to help us remember the vacation.

That evening in the restaurant I kept looking at him. Later when the grownups sat talking on the porch I lay on the salty grass in the dark and looked at him. There, in the flesh, right before my eyes was the kind of guy I'd been dreaming up. I imagined him in the jungles pinned down with his buddies. I didn't linger on that because I couldn't like see a place for myself. I couldn't imagine myself as a Vietnamese village girl. I imagined myself the daughter of a Bangkok CPA, down on his luck, who sells his daughter to a place whose purposes I could only dimly imagine. I imagined myself breaking free and running into the street and into David's arms. The only thing I didn't imagine him as was a middle-aging fellow sitting on a porch with his middle-aging siblings.

Two days later, the next to last day of our two weeks, when I slipped into his room, my cousin Celeste was like sitting on the bed. She went, "You are to stay out of my Dad's room."

I go, "And why is that?"

"Because if you don't I'm going to beat the shit out of you."

I said, "You can like watch if you want".

She jumped on me and we rolled out into the hall kicking and clawing and shouting. That was when the lecture came, on how to express one's feelings with words, to keep hands and feet to oneself, blah blah blah.

I next saw him 6 years later. I stood on his front step and rang the bell and when he opened the door it was like I was thirteen again. I shivered and my head felt light.

"Uncle David, I've run away from school," I said, "I like need someplace to crash."

I meant to sound pitiful, but I couldn't help myself, I started to giggle. How many times in my fantasies had I like fled some rapist or slaver or somebody and thrown myself on my uncle's mercies?

I remember one guy just a week or so before, (I'd long been supplementing my fantasies with boys). It was after a college mixer. This is like so not important. He stopped in the middle of his panting exertions, and goes, "Why do you have your fucking eyes closed?". I go, "It's because it feels so good." Of course, it was really because I was trying with all my might to make it my uncle who was stuffed inside me.

After a moment I calmed down and said, "I'm sorry, Uncle David, I'm like so nervous. I really do need a place to stay."

He looked at me blankly for an instant. Never once in any of my scenarios had he failed to recognize me. "Oh, you're my niece Zenia right?" Then the critical words, "Come in."

He led me up some dark narrow stairs and into a long thin living room. His place was dieing for renovation, I mean those stairs! Dark with this moldy old wood railing.

"A drink?" he asked, "I was just getting myself something when the doorbell rang."

"Vodka tonic," I said. It was what my mother drank, I thought it sounded like classy.

After chatting a bit about my mother and other family, he asked why I wanted to leave school.

"College is so like unreal. What does anything they teach have to do with my life? Math-for-the-humanities? Give me a break. The last useful thing I learned in school was keyboarding and that was in 6th grade. College's worse than high school even, it's like a dream world, like a fevered dream of life, like quarantine."

Actually I'd picked the school because it was close to where he lived. I'd never had the slightest intention of being there any longer than it took me to get into his bed.

"You've only been there a month," he said, "I've been out of the country. I had it on my list to get in touch with you and take you to dinner this next week."

I felt warm. "It's life I want," I said. "and you" I added in my thoughts.

"Have you talked about this with your mother?"

"What for."

He was quiet.

I figured a little more pleading would help so I went, "Uncle David, well I was hoping, I mean, could you like find me a job?" I knew he'd helped some of my older cousins. "They should stand on their own two feet, he spoils them," my mother always said.

"You're eighteen?" he asked.

"Almost nineteen."

His expression hardly changed when he said, "Alright. You're very pretty. There shouldn't be any trouble with getting you work. Where were you planning on staying?"

"Couldn't I like stay here with you till I have some money and find a place? I really don't want to go back to that dorm even for a night. It's like the night of the living dead out there. You must like have a guest room."

"OK," he replied, "I'll deal with the school and your mother and I can drive you out there Saturday to get your things."

"Don't bother. There's nothing there I want. I'm like starting fresh."

We had dinner, something delivered from a french restaurant and wine. He said "You're lucky to find me here. I just got back."

"Not so lucky," I admitted, "This last week I've been down here every afternoon, walking up and down the street. About now I'd have been hightailing it back to the station to catch the last train."

He showed me a guest room. It was near the top of the narrow townhouse. Up four flights of stairs! His room was one floor up. The top.

At 1 am I slipped up those stairs and into his room. Though I'd done this like a thousand times before, this time was real. I wanted time to like stop so I could live the moment forever.

I had just a white slip of a thing on. It seemed to fluoresce in the gloom. I moved silently to his bed. He was on his back, head to one side. In the dark I couldn't see much of him which was just as well because guys like look so stupid in their sleep. I lifted the covers and crawled over him. I put a hand on his hips, felt his pelvis through his pajamas, I let my hand rove it's way softly over the material till it discovered his fly. He had a slight erection already, it is so convenient that men get them in their sleep! As gently as I could I lifted his cock and positioned myself over it. My cunt is naturally open, it's entrance easy to find.

I looked down at him. His eyes had opened, he was looking up at me. I put a finger to his lips. I felt him swelling up within me the same time I dropped on him, working my hips about as I fell to get him rubbing against all my places. I pulled the straps of my slip off my shoulders, I wanted him to see my chest with my cute little breasts bouncing up and down, his eyes remained on my face though. I unbuttoned his pajama tops and rubbed myself against him. His chest hair felt so good against my tits. I began running myself up and down him, more and more frantically, my breasts jiggling wildly. When I came it started in the arches of my feet, like all my good ones. It shook me all over, exploding in my cunt. I felt so good. I cried out and collapsed.

When I came to there was a bowl of grapes on the bed by the pillow and a glass of wine on the end table. He was sipping another.

"We've had some good times together before," I sighed, "In my mind, but that was the best."

He said nothing. He set his wine down on the table on his side. He rolled me on my back. The bed shook and I was looking up at him, my thighs on either side of his. He slipped in and we began to fuck. It went on and on. I came and came and after each time he was still hard in me. I could never tell if he'd come or not. His hands were active and gentle, in my hair, caressing my breasts and nipples, around my thighs, under my ass, and up to the streaming place where we joined.

I remember once, returning to this world, feeling him start to move in me again, saying almost in tears, "Shit, again?"

I awoke. It was like 8:30. Sun poured through an open window. I felt so tired and achy. He was awake, looking at me. I could not read his expression. I sat up, groaning. My hips felt like they'd been like stretched on a rack. A baby couldn't've left me so ruined. I took the wine and sipped it.

My little white slip still pooled about my waist, covering nothing. He still had on his pajamas, covering everything.

"Wine for breakfast," I said.

He picked his cell off the bedside table, flipped it open and pressed a button. "This is David," he said, "I won't be coming in today. Must've picked up something in France."

He listened, then smiled slightly, "Right, don't want to start an office pandemic. I'll be on email later and you can call if anything absolutely needs me. Right, yeah, expect me on that conference call this afternoon unless you hear otherwise."

I felt so hot.

I reached for his cock. Squirming so my lips were on a trajectory for his fly, his flat chest, bared by his unbuttoned pajama tops, zoomed in my vision. He put a hand on my shoulder and caught my reaching hand with his other. He pulled me up flat on top of him and then rolled me over, slipping into me and spreading my thighs.

I made a complaining sound. My joints ached and I would've welcomed a little variety. Plus I'd been wanting to taste his cock, taste us both, feel it in my mouth, on my tongue, feel his balls and length with my fingers. I soon forgot my issues and was moaning with rising pleasure.

He never has let me go down on him nor has he gone down on me.

When I awoke again I was alone. I stood up and straightened with an effort. I wished that David was there so I could demonstrate my bowlegged sea walk. I could smell myself. What a stink! I pulled my slip back up, pulling the straps over my shoulders and ventured out onto the landing. I heard David's voice and slipped down the stairs. The second landing down opened on his study. He sat on a stuffed chair by a bay window, a coffee table was covered with papers, he had his laptop open and was talking on his cell.

He looked expressionlessly at me and went on talking. I pulled my slip up, stuck my tongue out at him, then climbed back up the stairs. Going up ached worse than coming down. I took a long hot shower, then poked around. In the room he'd tried to put me in I found the closet stuffed with clothes my size. My cousin Celeste's I guessed. I knew from my mother that she was in art school in Rome. "David spoils her so," I heard my mother's voice go in my head, "Of course she has no need to earn her living like the rest of us."

I dropped a linen sundress over my head, it was quite lovely, ivory with light green abstract patterning at the hem and chest.

I went down, pausing in the study door only long enough to raise that dress so he could see I was as available as ever, then I went on down to the kitchen. Waffles and bacon awaited me in a warmer. Orange juice was poured, coffee was in the thermos of a Brun maker.

The morning, what was left of it, passed slowly. I'd expected to be in his arms the whole day but he worked calmly.

"David," I said, sitting down on his knee when he hung up the phone, "Like where's the TV."

He kissed my neck, then lifted me off and reached for his laptop. "There isn't one."

"What! Like what's up with that? How do you survive?"

Eventually, while moving about his study, his voice on the phone a steady background, I discovered that one of the bookshelves was full of expensive pornography. I settled down with something called "Nous Deux" and read and looked at the prints and got hotter and hotter.

Once I tried to kneel between his legs. He lifted my head, shook his and went on with his call.

At dinner he said that he'd arranged for me to have an audition with a photographer the next day at 10. After dinner we fucked. First on the couch in living room, then he carried me up the 4 narrow flights of stairs to his waiting bed.

The photographer, Serge, was quite pleased with me. He took it for granted that I would pose nude. I was careful not to show my surprise. Thinking about it, it did seem kinda obvious and I found didn't mind. Still it wasn't like what I'd expected an uncle to arrange.

We worked all morning and most of the afternoon. He had this couch sitting in front of this artistic screen, all blotches of colors. I posed on the couch. At first I was a little like nervous so I started one of my fantasies, the one where Uncle David is like an English lord and he sees me, a peasant girl, when out riding. He has me brought to the manor house to work as a maid and we're off. It was all I could do to remember to keep my fingers under control.

Serge was entirely dispassionate. I could've been a still-life of fruit for all he seemed to care. He just gave me a flow of instructions and fussed with the lights now and then. It was kinda funny, there in my head, Uncle David would be pulling down the front of my maid's costume paying no attention to my feeble protests, and then Serge's voice would go, "Lean a little forward, honey, cup your breast, so sweet!"

Eventually Serge grunted and said we were done for the day. He sat on the couch where I'd been lying shortly before under various amounts of light and undid his pants. "You must tip the photographer" he said, "Honey, I'm quite strung out from the sight of you."

I took him in my hands and licked him and surrounded him with my mouth. I imagined he was David so I wasn't cheating anybody, including his wife, I'd noted he wore a fat wedding band.

He lifted me up and lay me on the couch, one leg thrown over it's back. He knelt between my legs and wet his fingers and explored me with them and then with his tongue and oh it felt so good. He crawled over me and made himself at home inside me. He'd only penetrated for like a second when he pulled out and spurted over my chest.

He looked at me for a moment, me feeling like a bit unsatisfied. He sighed as he zipped himself up, "Sweet, but I don't do those kinds of shots."

"You would be wise," he went on, "Not to either, they reduce your value with businessmen."

He saw I wasn't quite understanding, "Whom I can connect you with, if you wish."

I stared at him, thinking about Uncle David. Did he know of this?

"That's where the money is, honey" Serge went on, "Not art. With modeling, stick to nudes, the occasional lesbian sets I can arrange are OK and masturbation is always sweet."

I thought about the money. "OK" I said.

"I am associated with Frozen Youth. It is a large website. I also put some pictures on my own website and sell the prints. The ones I think have more aesthetic values. 'More' being a very relative term here. You will be under contract to me. You can have a lawyer look at the contract if you like."

"Oh I trust my uncle."

"You are wise, he is very trustworthy."

As I took a cab back to David's, a contract and money in my purse, my cellphone rang. It was David. I told him about the businessman connection and asked if it bothered him. He said no. Then he told me how he wanted to find me when he came home.

In the townhouse, after showering I waited on a chair in his study, lit by a single lamp, reading "Nous Deux", naked save for the translucent red slip found in Celeste's dresser, right where he'd told me it would be.