Waiting

I felt something different. I managed to push myself up a bit and brush the the hair out of my eyes and look over my back. Celeste reared behind me with something long and black belted to her hips. I'd never seen anything like it and just stared. Guiding it with one hand, she slammed it hard into me and ground her hips against my rear in a way quite different from the men. Her eyes closed and she tilted her face toward the ceiling as if there was some revelation to be seen up there. I collapsed again and wept into my hair.

Hands grabbed my head and turned my face, rubbing it against the chair fabric, and then held it facing the other way. A man's hips and belly and thighs and penis all covered by rough hair filled my vision. It was Cousin Rose's guy. Out of the periphery of my vision I could see people standing and drinking and watching.

"Is she to be trusted?" he asked.

"One way to find out," someone else answered.

"Easy for you, you're not the one at risk." The guy roughly opened my mouth and thrust his cock in.

Celeste pulled out of me and murmured in her bored voice, "Some one else want this?"

There were several cries of "Me!"

Someone right behind me said with a familiar high pitched shrill voice said, "Help me get this on. Oh I do so love the way it feels."

It pressed against my asshole. I moaned. I struggled to look back, my eyes were jammed too close to the guy's belly. I got a glimpse and sure enough it was that Rose.

Her guy said, "You're not even trying. I could be rubbing my dick in hamburger. It would do more than you." He grabbed my hair and began banging my face against him.

Rose worked the thing into my bottom. She kept moaning and crying "Oh God Oh God I can't stand it it feels so good!". I grunted when it suddenly slid in. She began frantically working her hips back and forth. I could feel her hips and thighs against me. "That's so good Joe," she cried, "Twist my nips! That's right." Suddenly she stopped grinding and giggled. She took the leash and pressed it under and against my sex. I tried to struggle, reaching behind, trying to slap her. Someone caught my arms. They chanted as she pushed it in.

How long this went on I cannot say. Finally I realized I was lying on the floor. Hands helped me sit up, something was dropped over my head, I was in the dark, then something was squeezed over my face and I was in the light again. Four hands lifted me. My dress fell the rest of the way down. Two people were supporting me. I managed to raise an arm and clear the hair from my eyes. They were David and Celeste.

The room was largely empty. One couple fucked leisurely on the floor in front of the fireplace. I watched them stupidly.

Celeste hung my purse over my shoulder as if she was decorating a manikin. I batted at her to get her away from me, having her close made me ill. I realized that tears were trickling down my cheeks.

"She won't like it if I take her home," said Celeste.

David said nothing. With his arm around my waist he helped me down the stairs. The sounds of the party came from upstairs. It had evidently moved up a level. Probably for food, I thought, they'd been getting a lot of exercise. My feet were bare, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. We stepped out onto the pavement. The concrete was rough and wet, there must've been a shower. The floor of the cab was dirty. I leaned against him.

The cab made the 5 miles to my place in what seemed an instant.

He helped me out. I stubbed my toe on the curb. He said, "You have forgotten your shoes," and I began to laugh and cry at the same time. Making next to no noise I was so exhausted.

He helped me up the stairs and into my apartment. It was dark. He ran the bath and undressed me and let me sink into it. I'm not sure I've ever felt anything so good. I fell asleep.

I awoke vaguely when he lifted me out. I leaned against him while he toweled me off. He put an arm about my shoulders, a breast brushed against his shirt, it didn't seem really connected to me, though I felt what it felt. He dropped my nightgown, white flannel, over my head. He led me out into the darkened apartment. He'd opened and neatened the sofabed. There was just the one room. I collapsed on the mattress, lieing on my side. I felt the covers slide over me up to my chin, the springs groaned as he lay, I felt him warm behind me. I felt his shirt against my back, I was spooned within him, he had an arm over my side, his belt pushed against my bottom, his knees were under mine. I fell asleep instantly.

When I woke he was gone. Every bone and every muscle and every tendon in my body ached. I felt stretched and ripped inside. My head felt light and drugged. I felt strangely lucid. I'd've welcomed an overpowering pounding hangover but drink hadn't been my problem. I staggered into the bathroom and took 4 aspirin all the same. I remembered him holding me and felt happy. I do believe that if he had not been so kind I'd've heeded my mother's voice, the voice in my head that right then was telling me over and over what a stupid disgusting thing I was getting into.

Looking at myself in the mirror I saw that I still wore the collar and leash. It hung down in front, a dark line against the white of my nightgown.

I left it on that day and didn't leave the apartment. I hardly moved. Bird flu couldn't've wiped me out more thoroughly.

I got a call from a girlfriend wondering why I wasn't on IM and wanting to go shopping. I got a call from my sister who wanted to tell me about her baby who was evidently the first child in the history of the planet to learn to crawl. I got a call from my Mom, ostensibly because she'd heard I was sick, but mostly she wanted to know if I'd started seeing anyone. "You should get out more," she said, "I'm beginning to think the last one, what was his name? wasn't so bad after all." I asked how Dad was doing and she said, "He's fine of course," sounding surprised.

Mostly I sat, idly fingering the collar or the leash. Sometimes I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. There I stood, my light blue chamois bathrobe buttoned to my neck, long enough to hide even my knees. The leash hanging down in front.

I wanted David to call. I remembered sitting at his feet in his study, I remembered him putting me to bed, I remembered him watching me put on the leash. I remembered walking across the park beside him, feeling so attached to him.

I kept the other things as far from my mind as I could. They made me feel weepy and sick when they intruded. The things I'd let happen to me! I wondered what would have happened if I'd said no. What would David's reaction have been? What was it now? Possibly he'd expected me to put a stop to it!

I shook my head fretfully, sending my wild hair flying. I'd always been a face to face kind of girl. Straight body aligned sex was what I'd wanted, permitted actually. It was the closeness I'd really wanted.

I had a flash of David sitting watching as those naked girls, his nieces, lead me away. I knew I would do anything he wanted me to do.

To stop the thoughts, to stop the tears, I got out my laptop and did some work. Sexing up a presentation I was to give in the middle of the week. Working made me feel closer to David and the day passed.

Next day, Sunday, Celeste called. The sound of her voice made me cold. I almost hung up. We met for lunch. It was a beautiful day and I wore a tan sundress.

The only reference she made to Friday was a bland "Hope you're recovered". I longed to ask about David, but didn't. I'd hoped and expected him to come with her and felt dashed that he hadn't.

I wanted to explain that nothing like that night was going to happen to me ever again, but I didn't. I did wordlessly hand her a plastic supermarket bag, the collar and leash coiled within.

We chatted pleasantly about art through lunch. She held that abstract art was superior because if, say, an alien, or a smart computer were shown a painting, it could understand realism, but only something with a human imagination could hope to make anything of abstraction. I said this was nonsense, that only a human could look at a painting of a person and imagine why they were there, what they were thinking, what their hopes and fears were. She laughed and said that was one of the arguments David used. I felt suddenly close to him. It was a very pleasant lunch and we parted friends, I thought. The only bad thing was that she said he'd flown out on business Saturday afternoon and wouldn't be back for a week. That made me feel very bad.

Celeste and I went out twice during the week. One evening to a movie. I hardly remember what. I do remember that coming out, I remarked that according to her, we should've spent the evening looking at weird colors creep about the screen. She said that movies were hardly art at all and didn't count.

The next night she, Cousin Rose, Rose's boyfriend and I went to dinner and then a play of Celeste's choosing. I was none to happy to see Rose and her boyfriend again, but the evening was pleasant enough. I felt happy to be mingling with David's family.

"That's 2 hours of my life that're never comin back," observed Rose petulantly once we were all in the cab after the show, "If it wasn't for Tom's hand I'd've been fast asleep. Oooh."

Celeste gave the driver an address I didn't recognize. I was tired and just wanted to go home.

Celeste's cell rang, she put it to her ear saying, "Hi Dad. Yes it's just over. We're going there now. Yes. I quite liked it, Rose didn't. I don't know. I'll put her on."

She handed the phone back to me.

Hearing David's voice made me lonely and sad. I wished I was alone with the phone, though truth to tell I would not have been able to say anything to him alone that I couldn't in company. I felt so tongue tied and awkward.

"What time is it there?" I asked.

He said it was early morning. His meetings didn't start for another 3 hours. He said he was out walking around the city. He said when he traveled he always woke early regardless of the jet lag and went walking. It was, I believe the most personal thing he's ever said to me. He asked about the play.

"It was OK," I said.

"It was shit," said Rose.

"It's more Celeste's sort of thing. Have you seen it?"

He said no. "Well," I went on. "The whole thing is this split stage. On one side is this couple going about their life. On the other is this guy sitting in a tent. Silhouettes are projected on the the sides of the tent. You quickly see that the shadows moving about are of the couple. The guy in the tent keeps up this running monologue describing what he sees. The whole thing is he just gets it wrong."

"Like Plato's cave," says Celeste.

"Like Celeste just said, it's all about Plato's cave. Except the guy in the cave got distorted images of an ideal world. The guy in the play just looked at shadows of boring normal existence."

"The real trouble," I said, "Was that they needed to make something interesting. Either the couple living out their day had to be interesting or what the guy in the tent thought he saw needed to be interesting. Having them both boring was a problem."

"That would've ruined it" declared Celeste.

David said he'd just come to a park with a lake and flowers and birds. The cab was pulling up to the curb so I said goodbye and handed the phone back to Celeste.

We climbed five flights of none-too-bright, none-too-clean stairs. Celeste rang the bell. A deep voice yelled, "Get the door honey."

There was a moment, then locks shifted about and the door opened. Behind it stood a naked, well, nearly naked girl.

"Well, Shelley," said Rose, pushing in, pulling her boyfriend, "Look at you. Hurry Tom I'm so horny I could scream."

I started to back away but Celeste propelled me in. The girl Shelley wore high heeled sandals, really high heeled, there were little gold chains about her ankles, I couldn't see how they could ever come apart, she couldn't take steps longer than a couple inches. Her midriff was tightly constricted by flat cords, wrapped so tightly from her belly up to just under her breasts, her waist was wasp thin, her hips, which were probably normal width, seemed enormous, her sex was shaven and glistening. "Hi guys," she said.

"Serve them some wine, honey," said the voice, "Come on over."

It was a loft apartment. One big space with lots of now dark windows and enormous dark sky lights. In the day it must be flooded with light. Now it was dim. Just one area floodlit. A large man sat at an easel in the center of the light.

"Ah Celeste," he said, "Yes, she is sweet."

There were sweaty sounds coming from a couch where Rose and Tom had decamped.

"Hey honey," he roars, "Hurry it up with the wine."

"You know I can only go so fast, Serge," she gasps a laugh in her breathless voice. She is just shuffling out of the little alcove of a kitchen. Her little steps make her seem to float, they make carrying the tray with the glasses an act of concentration.

I looked at the painting Serge was working on and was quite astonished. It showed a girl, recognizably Shelley, standing by a hearth. She wore a long black and gold Chinese silk gown, very narrow. Standing about her were three very hungry looking men. They were all drinking cocktails. The girl's expression was breathless, not eager, but accepting. I realized suddenly that she was as tightly bound under that dress as she was now as she worked her way to us with a tray of glasses. It was the way she stood that spoke of constriction. She was not looking at the men, I saw, but at the fire. Wild forms seemed to leap in the flames doing horrible things.

"You're Serge Surikov," I said, "We studied some of your paintings in one of my art classes." His paintings had always been remarkable for the intenseness of his women. We'd spent some time discussing what it was they were feeling and thinking as they stood admired by men. I had to chuckle, now I knew what they were thinking, nothing deep like we'd imagined, just about how hard it was to get a breath.

"Ah honey, you kill me!" he groaned with a laugh, "I feel my art and I have been murdered and it's a sorry death that does nothing for my wallet. If only I'd've been a writer you'd've at least had to buy my books for your stinking class."

"Serge has to support himself by taking pictures of naked teens during the day," explained Celeste.

"Those are the pictures I like," said Rose from where she lay on a couch. "Oh that's so nice Tom, get your tongue like a little higher."

"At last!" Serge roared as Shelley reached us carrying the tray. "This started out its trip an embarrassingly young varietal, now you'll find it nicely aged and quite a treat!"

I moved about the loft, looking at the paintings that hung on the walls. Quite a few were impressionist, dreamy antique city folk in parks. "Those are my grandfather's," said Serge beside me, "His death did nothing for their market value alas."

"Do you think of nothing but money?"

He shrugged, "I think of light and beauty and shape and fate when I can. During the day I capture what a nipple looks like in fishnet. You are not drinking your wine. Would you rather something else? A beer? Shelley!" he roars.

"No, no," I said, not wanting to be the cause of poor Shelley inching across the space and back again. "The wine's fine." I took a sip for show.

"Will you pose for me, honey? You are very sweet."

"Oh I don't think so."

"It will please our shared friend."

I glanced at Celeste. She watched us with a slow bored smile. I thought that David knew we'd come there.

"Have you painted her?"

"Many times. She is very interesting."

"I won't pose nude," I said, then I added, looking at Shelley, "Nor will I put up with anything like that."

He smiled. "Who asked you to?"

We did not stay long. At least Celeste and I didn't. Rose and Tom might still have been fucking on the couch come morning for all I know. There was a cab waiting and it took us to my apartment. Images of Celeste at that party kept churning up within me and I was nervous and none too happy. When we got there I said that I was very tired and had to be at work early that morning.

She said with an amused tone, "So do I." She waved away an offer of money for the fare.

When I'd gotten out she said to me through the open window, "Wait." I looked down at her. She was pale and her long strong face was impossible to read. After a moment she said, "You are a nice girl and you could have a nice life. Nothing is what you think it is. You understand nothing. The choices you are making are unlikely to make you happy. You should stop while you can."

She rolled up the window and the cab drove off. I watched its tail lights till they mingled with the street lights and were indecipherable in the distance. It was very late. I felt a surge of happiness. I remembered her first words to me, something about having gotten used to David having girlfriends younger than she. She was jealous.

And I did not see that I in fact had any choices to make. This thought left me sad and desperate there on the curb.

I posed for Serge twice, once on a Saturday and once after work. The loft was a different place in the sun. The Saturday, Shelley lay on the floor on a rug in the sun, her arms bound behind her back by tightly wrapped ropes so her elbows touched, the calves of her legs bound to her bound forearms, her hands gripped her knees.

He took pictures of me as I wandered about the loft. I thought of David. I kept looking at Shelley bound silent in the sun. I wondered if that was what David wanted of me. I imagined myself contorted and aching on the study floor or before the fire as he read. I wanted to ask Shelley if she was happy. I wouldn't like it, I knew that, but I would put up with it if it was what David wanted. What he wanted, I just didn't know.

The Wednesday after work, I found Serge at his easel surrounded by photos of me. It made me feel more than a little funny. He covered the painting, saying it was too rough to be looked at.

Shelley came in after I'd been there maybe 10 minutes, wearing black slacks and a knit top. We chatted pleasantly, I learned she was one of David's nieces and had a job as a production assistant at the local public TV station. I noticed both she and Serge wore wedding bands. That they were married surprised me. I wished to ask her about it, about how she felt, but couldn't.

Serge took more pictures of me while we chatted. Since we were talking, I asked about the camera and why he didn't paint from life.

"The camera freezes what's really there and so it lies," he replied, "But then, honey, the subject doesn't move while I'm working either."

After a time Shelley got Serge a glass of wine and a beer for me and then disappeared into the bathroom. Shortly after the flush, she came out naked. She went to a wall near where we were standing. There was a strap attached to it about eye level to her. She turned her back to the wall, stood on tiptoe pulled the strap about her neck and clicked it into a slot in the wall.

He took more pictures of me doing I don't know what.

David had returned. In the office I saw him no more than before. I had dinner with him most evenings. Sometimes takeout at his place. Sometimes in a restaurant. Afterwards I would sit with him, either in his study or in the living room. I often felt I was posing for him too. I would sit on the stool in the study, watching as he worked on his laptop or talked with guys in our far-eastern offices. Or I would sit on one of the easy chairs near a window in the living room, never the couch and he would read.

At eleven thirty or midnight, when he saw me drooping with exhaustion he would put me in a cab to be carried home. How often I cried in those miserable back seats!