Monthly Archives: July 2011

A scene from an unfinished work—Part 7

Can you keep a secret?

It was a month since the weekend with Michael. A short phone call ended the relationship with the same speed as its birth. Julia resigned herself to a life as the other woman. Remembering that horrible morning after the lovely weekend.

“I didn’t mean to be rough with you.” John’s words still filled her ears, even in the obstetrician’s office.

“Are you listening to me?” The memory of his voice caused the young woman to shudder, shaking to a point where Sarah embraced the frail figure to her side. The landlady was moved enough to put both arms around the newly christened future mother. The voice still persisted.

“Bitch! I’ll smack the shit outa you. We’ll see how much this jerk-off loves you when he finds your belly sticking out.” The violent twinge brought a low moan from the frightened girl.

“Baby…it’s ok.” The older woman brought the solemn looking young woman deeper into her grasp. “No matter what, you will always have a place to stay.” The reassuring words were welcome tones floating through a brain that wanted to scream. The 50ish, portly redhead already expressed joy at the idea of a baby’s cries and smell filling her house. She was ecstatic at the proposition.

“I want you to know…whatever,” decreasing her volume, “that bastard isn’t worth shit.” Sarah did not want the pregnant teenager to her front, straddled by a mother and aunt to hear the harsh statement.

“No, please…I’m ok…really.” Julia reached behind her back to pull the long ponytail over her chest. The pink top blended nicely with the raven-black straight hair. She hoped the movement would cover her thoughts.

“You are not to see him again…your mine…understand?” Trying to remain in the present was failing, as the past rushed through her mind.

“I promise.” Stated half in fear and the motivation to save a great guy.

Julia again quivered at the thought of her acceptance of a life with no guarantees, other than heartbreak. Her mind raced.

“I had to do it. Poor Michael did not deserve a woman like me.” As Sarah kept talking about the future and her plans to act the doting grandmother, Julia reasoned her decision.

“I’m nothing but a whore. I have no pride. What could I offer my dear Michael? “No matter how she tried, dear or my love or sweet always preceded his name.

Sarah brought the new mother to be to the local Dunkin Donuts.

“Decaf tea for you. I know they have peppermint.” The doting would not wait for the baby’s arrival.  Neither would the responsibility.

“But Sarah…please?” Julia detested decaf, anything.

“But nothing little lady. No caffeine for you…and I know you don’t smoke…so don’t start.”

Julia sat relaxed, for the first time since her period made its disappearance known. The older woman wore the housedress as if it was eveningwear. The gigantic white flowers fluttered over the beige material. No doubt it could disorient anyone too focused on the woman.

“You remind me of my mother.” Julia’s soft features and warm expression hit the woman as if she had been grabbed by her shoulders. Julia’s devotion to her mother was often discussed between the pair and the love they formed was something Sarah wished for.

“Sweetheart…if you want,” the confident tone suddenly became hidden. “I will try to help as much as I can.” The shy expression was new to Sarah, but real. She was moved.

Julia’s smile with a sudden twitch joined the once boisterous and positive voice of Sarah in hiding. Something happened. The young woman wished to dive under the table.

“Julia!” Angie’s volume filled the donut shop.

“Julia…where have you been?” Mary was not able to get anything out of Michael regarding the sudden break in what looked to be a lovely relationship.

Sarah conducted herself within reason. The pregnancy was to be a secret. Or, at least hidden till nature made it impossible.

“Sweetheart, we miss you so.” Mary tried to pull little Angie away from Julia. At least the girl did not call her Aunt Julia. The young woman would not have been able to control herself. She looked ready to explode in tears.

Bidding the two good-bye, Julia felt some relief. Her conversation with Sarah continued. The surrogate grandmother talked of schedules and diapers and all things that reminded the older woman of her grown children. It was such a happy duo, sipping decaf tea and caffeinated coffee. It was no wonder neither of them noticed Mary and Angie talking to the mother and aunt of the pregnant teenager that sat across from them in the doctor’s office. It was no surprise that Julia or Sarah did not note the stunned face on Mary as the conversation in the parking lot continued.


Stories of the Bru—A Bru discovers Brooklyn–Part 6



                                            Don’t tell me about strict parents

Dinner was late, as was expected. Mother looked a different word than tired. The woman was past fatigued. Remaining quiet, which was not unusual to my character, I lay in wait, as the tiger that brought my parents together when they were children.

“My angel, you look so sad.” Mother, using the strength remaining from a twelve- hour workday, tried to clear the table.

“Mother, I will do it. Please rest.” Her eyebrows stretched at my new name for her. Since our entrance into this country, mommy would be the lone description from my lips. Mrs. M, whom my mother kept house for, and I owed much, told me, you can neverhide anything from your mother. Our English lessons were filled with such observations.

She was correct. What could a teenage girl that sobbed if forced to sleep alone waiting for her mother to finish a late-shift, hide from the woman?

“Is there a problem at the school? Is someone bothering you? I will go to school.” She seemed revitalized with a threat upon her cub.

“Oh no, mommy.” I was sure to use the correct term. “Maria introduced me to so many nice people.” A deep breath, “respectful girls…and boys.” The last two words whispered.

I felt the conversation was progressing along as planned. Mother wanted us to use English as much as possible. She only reverted to Viet or our language…Quàngtri Vân Kiêu when speaking of the memories of Father or brother. Though extreme anger would also resurrect our dialect.

“That is nice. Are the boys here as respectful as in Fayetteville?” Our hometown in NC.

“Oh yes. There is a very polite boy…he is very mature and wants to succeed in life.” The moment of truth was approaching.

“Oh wonderful. That is so good to hear.” Mother continued to the bedroom, adjacent to the kitchen.

“There is a very important dance. And many of the students are going.” My voice raised an octave, or so I thought.

“Well, you can not attend. It would be too dangerous. Unescorted young ladies are always in danger. This is a bad City.”

There was the opening. I draw my sword and charged full speed ahead.

“This nice, respectful boy wants to take me as in a respectful escort way,” there was no time to breathe, “and he is very nice and he is polite,” out of breath fear took over. I stood silent looking at the bewildered face to my front.

“What?” She still spoke in English. Things were ok, so far.

“His name is Mario, he is very popular and all the teachers like him cause he is so polite and respect…” I was cutoff in Vietnamese.

“A boy wants to take you. Who is this boy? Where is he taking you?” Again a surge of energy spread through my mother. Her questions showed my previous preparation was wasted.

“It is the school prom. Maria’s sister is my size, I can use her prom dress from a couple of years…” I was cut off in my Bru Dialect. The shaking in my hands increased.

“What?” Her voice split me in half. “What has been going on? All this planning behind my back.” Her face tensed and deep snorts escaped from her spreading nose.

“Mommy…” My eyes remained downcast. Mother used physical violence as punishment only once in my life, and that time violent was the only description. It seemed after the event, I spent a month cuddled in her arms.

“No mommy this.” Our dialect filled the house.

“Tomorrow you will go to school and not speak to this boy.” A slim finger met my eyes as they gained the strength to look at her. “Tell this Maria,” my mother’s stressed face smoothed the wrinkles that dotted her expression. It was tightened from anger. “You tell her that she tell this boy,” her words were becoming clogged as they left her mouth, “you are not going. I forbid it.” She was not finished. I stood with the meekest stance possible. I could taste the salt from my tears as they ran onto quivering lips. “And after that, you do not talk to her anymore. You do not need any friends here.” She ripped her top off, her anger still seething.

“Mommy,” my stomach spasm did not interrupt the attempt to speak.

“Please, I just want to …” That was al I could say. I dropped to our bed, shaking the mattress with my coughing and crying.

“Baby,” the gentle hand was welcomed. But she was still speaking in our dialect. “I understand. I know you are growing so much. Mommy understands.” A kiss to my cheek halted the streams of liquid flowing over my face. Now, sobbing replaced the deluge.

“It is natural for you to feel these things. You are eighteen…at home you would be married.” Her fingers ran through the length of my hair. “I had my first child already.” Mother lost two children before I was born.

“But mommy?” At last I spoke. My breathing was retuning to normal.

“My precious child,” still in our language. “When the time comes, I will select a good husband for you. I will find a good family and we will discuss our children’s future.” Another kiss on the cheek, “please, this is how it must be done. The parents will decide…that is the best.” A short giggle from the woman, “fate…no…no…fate never works.”

I felt my own surge of energy. “But mommy? Father and you…remember how you met…the tiger…fate was the tiger.” The recollection of the incredible first meeting of my parents shook her confidence.

Stuttering for a moment, “well…that was wartime…things…ahh.” Then she stood up and pulled my chin upward. “Water Flower,” my name in Vietnamese. Maybe she was beginning to understand? Could it be? She understands that my heart is breaking? That I felt love for Mario, though it was still my secret?

“I have told you what to do tomorrow. I have told you how your marriage will be arranged.” It seems I was wrong.

The shock on my face froze any tears collecting in my lids.

“If you love me, you will obey. I have told you. I will not tell you again.” She slid under the sheet. It signaled the ending of the day. For me, it signaled the ending of so much more.


A scene from an unfinished work—part 6

                                              Love is freedom

            Riding back from a weekend at the Shore was never a pleasant experience.

Julia suffered nausea on one return trip after a bout with rough seas on a friend’s boat.

Another weekend was filled with such excitement and promise; a really cute guy showed interest, then the unexpected depression at the closing stages of her stay ruined the entire week. He never called, and work was the same old grind. Maybe if the entire time were one big disaster she’d feel better along the packed Parkway leading to the North.

But this trip was different.

            Snuggled on Michael’s arm, the stop and go staccato current of endless vehicles was a humorous sight. Angie, his niece slept on Michael’s other arm. How wonderful was this guy? Children can tell about a person. Angie was so correct at her first statement to the shy Julia. “Will you sleep with Uncle Michael?” She was so right.

The child was only off by one night.

            “Julia?” Michael used all the stealth taught in ambush training. “Julia, sweetheart?”

            “Oh, Michael.” Her arms rose to his neck, in an instant the hesitant young man found the top of the sheet. A sheet he slipped under. The bed warmed with his presence.

            “Do you believe my sisters?” Marry and Gerry both hinted that Angie would have to sleep with her little brother. It was too much of an imposition for Julia to spend another night, sharing a bed with an eight year old.

            “They kept winking at me, I was so embarrassed.” Her voice was full of joy. Julia smiled wide enough to catch the glinting rays of a full moon. Her teeth sparkled. That dark complexion intensified with hours in the pool. Hours spent in Michael’s arms.

            “Hey, who you expecting?” Realizing the girl was nude; his patented smile warmed her heart.

            “Oh Michael.” Waiting for her love to enter left Julia full of anxiety. Words of comfort and joy were laced with fear and recrimination. How dare she even consider giving herself to Michael? She did not deserve him.

            “Michael, please…hold me.” She trembled, as his touch grew stronger.

            “Julia…Oh Julia.” Michael was without female contact for a year. There may have been women in the American Army, but not on the mountain range of Hindu Kush. The strategic outpost used by elements of the Pathfinder unit attached to the 82nd Airborne Division. Their mission to intercept AL-Qaeda infiltrators and patrol the barren and treacherous slopes of the forbidding landscape that had cost the lives of many good men.

            “Please, Julia…I thought I was going to explode in the pool.” A kiss to her cheek.
            “Darling…what…what?” Julia shook her head in disbelief as his tongue surrounded her nipple with circular strokes.

            Pausing for a brief moment, “baby…a woman’s skin. How I missed it?”

            “Mike…el!” With a squeak, she admitted the delight at his actions.

            A slithering tongue licked the other breast at it prepared the soft mound to be swallowed by his mouth. Julia was no longer breathing, but rather heaving with her upper body. She knew her breast was slight, but so small to be swallowed? It did not matter. She felt the moist lips rubbing on her skin as sucking sounds filled her ears.

            “Don’t move, sweetheart. Baby…just let me enjoy you.” Michael’s tone sounded smooth, and the gentle words caused her to lay flat. She was ready to accept her new role.

Someone cared for her pleasure.

            Looking at the top of his head, her fingers ran through the short curls of black hair. Tiny feet wiggled as the area between her legs shuddered.

            A twinge, as his tongue traveled down her stomach stopping for only a second inside her navel. A generous lick brought a full sigh from her lips. The man’s breath flushed her skin. The heat burned inside her crotch. She could feel his hand, strong and determined. Gentle in his touch, hardened fingers touched the dampened area. His tongue met the two fingers preparing her for his moistened touch.

            “Michael…no I don’t deser…deserve,” the frail voice broke as it hoped to express regret.

            “Julia, I love you. Forgive me for saying it.” His mouth resumed the gliding motion as her whole vagina was overwhelmed with oozing moisture. Both of her hands gripped the young man’s hair, fighting to be gentle, but wanting to squeeze and pull him toward her. She could feel her petite stomach contract and tighten.
            “My God! Michael…Mi…Mi…” The volume of her words rose, as did his intensity. Slipping his hand under her wiggling bottom, she was lifted off the bed. In mid air the feverish consuming of her sensitive tissue brought a dull howl as she begged him to stop.

            There was a short pause to flash his devilish smile. She was past coy or sweet intentions.She would take charge.

            “Inside me!” She shouted. Michael pulled her to him. Looking past her rolling head, he hoped no one heard the thunderous command.

            “Julia…” She would not let him continue.

            Grabbing him shaft, its width widened her eyes.

            “Baby,” Michael guided it into her warm and sensitive area. An area on fire.

            “Michael…Michael…I love you, I love you.” With both hands she pawed and then pushed the sweaty skin that lay upon her pelvis. She wanted him inside her. Inside her deeper than any man had traveled before. Deeper than John.

            “Baby,” his strained voice told her the need that drove him. “Julia, I’m gonna come. Oh, baby. I’m gonna come.” As he moved to withdraw, freshly polished red fingernails dug deep into his back. They were applied with such care, as Julia instructed little Angie in their application. A whiff of his odor circled around her face. It drove her enflamed passion to new heights.

            “Michael…no…no.” Slim legs rapped around the muscular torso.

            “Come in me. Michael…I need your come…I need your love.” The last few word’s lacked the strength of the first. Their vulnerability was too much for Michael to bear.

            “I love you…Julia…I love…” The rocking of the bed amplified the movements on its surface. There would be no way of preventing at least the adults sharing the beach house from knowing the sexual gyrations now thumping against one wall. Michael’s final thrusts pushed the headboard till it could only ricochet against the beige barrier.

            “What is it baby?” Michael asked. Julia’s thoughts of the night before sent a chill up her sine. It caused little Angie to awaken, only to check that the young woman was still there.

            As the black Lincoln picked up speed, Michael joined his niece as eyes closed. Julia held onto the strong arm as one would a favorite teddy bear. Angie rested content with the knowledge that Julia was still there. She hoped Michael felt the same way.

            Michael woke in time to walk her to the door. The weekend was incredible, as the two knew their feelings were real and pure. A simple kiss and Julia thought her feet were off the ground. The scene was filled with innocence and love. Tom looked at his sleeping wife, then grinned at what appeared adolescent romance. The returning paratrooper would be home for only a short time. After visiting his parents, he hoped with Julia, Michael would be in training for almost a year. This sudden affair was made to order. Everyone was happy. Everyone but.

            “Son of a bitch. Little whore…I’ll…little dirty slut.” The voice from the BMW was hoarse and ripe with anger. The sneer kept at bay the violent reaction brewing through his limbs.


Stories of the Bru—A Bru discovers Brooklyn—Part 5

                                         The calm before the storm

            The day started out as perfect as a dawn breaking over the Xe Pon. I remember walking barefoot along the beach as the mist of the night dampened the white sand. The coarse feeling between my toes while we girls frolicked in the shallow waters. This morning began such as that.

            “Girlfriend, you look perfect.” Maria called me a little after my mother left for work. I wondered why she was so inquisitive about her workday.

            “We almost match. Oh, how I wish I had that hair.” In the short time I knew her, she already formed a habit of fingering or stroking my straight black mane. I would hear about its length and the natural shine. I have to admit the attention was intoxicating.

            “Rosie, he’s gonna die.” After giving me the American name of Rosita, it seemed a shorter version was preferred.

            “I hope I won’t get in trouble.”  The tone showed my fright. It was gym day and we were not dressed for it. Maria’s plan was for us to appear unprepared for PE. I was new, and she would tell the PE Teacher I didn’t understand English. I guess she intended to show a map of my country, Bru. She just did not care about an unsatisfactory mark and would have support. Two Black girls overheard the plan and decided to join our non-participation. All four of us were showing our knees. I owned two skirts, and Maria said Mario would like the black one, “cause he’s Italian…they love that damn color.”

            My shirt was an A & F cap sleeve that was a little loose on top. I only mention it due to standing next to Maria. While she admired my pleated skirt some inches over the knees, I marveled at her blouse. It was a lovely sheer white silk-looking shirt. A see-through print design ran from the top of her left shoulder over her breast. That was my focus. I knew she told me it was an XL, but her bust was straining the fragile material. I was grateful for the slip of white material layered behind the print. Nothing was visible, but to me, this top was scandalous. I wanted one.

            “I though you were stuck up, but Maria clued us in.” Cookie was tall and slender. Her skin was dark and looked as soft as silk. I knew she wore extensions, as she bragged about the price. It was well worth it. I think, and still do she was the most beautiful teenage girl I had ever seen. Lip-gloss gave her lips a moist natural quality I knew mine were lacking. She wore a lovely silk top. I knew this was real silk. The yellow blouse sat as if fitted over her black skirt. I could tell the material was not the same as my blended mix of cheap fibers. Without touching the lining, I knew this was luxurious. Her heels were black and stunning.

            “She wasn’t stuck up, she’s got the hots for that white boy.” Brenda squeaked with a high-pitched tone. She wore a white summer dress, decorated with pink flowers. I though it was beautiful. Her flip-flops matched the dress, as they were pure white.

            “What?” The girls saw me in the cafeteria and must have waved. Since, I kept my head down at all times, it was obvious that they thought my shyness, or a better description, my fear, was a slight. “I mean,” my mouth continued to move. How?”

            “I told them.” Maria was so forceful and confident in her speech. No one could question her decisions. Certainly not me, the little girl from Bru.

Due to construction or something to do with an asbestos inspection, the girls would share the gymnasium with the boys. Maria’s plan was after being berated by the female teacher, the four of us would sit in the stands, writing something equivalent to I must be prepared for PE, a thousand times. It was a composition on the need for proper attire during physical activity. I was excused, being new and looking scared to death as the wiry 30ish woman kept asking me if I needed an interpreter.

“Ting,” a Chinese student that knew at a glance I wasn’t from the land of thedragon. The tiny girl with incredible eyes was kind enough to explain that I was from Vietnam and this caused the usual confusion.

“Oh, your Vietnamese…I will call Phoung.” Raising her hand to hasten another interpreter.

“No. I am not Vietnamese.” On this point, I was not shy.

 Maria jumped into the conversation.

“No no, she’s just transferred from another country.” Her shirt looked as if carrying a bundle of juggling softballs. No kidding!

After Maria’s outfit ceased moving I thought. “North Carolina is another


“This is my friend, Rosaita.” My BFF’s revelation concerning my name change helped the bewildered woman. She was still trying to pronounce Nước Hoa. “She’s from another place near Korea or India…I think they are at war with Vietnam or China or            someplace like that?” Don’t you love her?

The PE period did not disappoint. Some of the boys decided to take their shirts off during a heated basketball game. It was only for a short time, before the male teacher growled and they dressed. However, it brought a rosy glow to my face when Cookie blurted out. “Look at her, she just licked her lips. You go girl!” Can you guess who thegirl was?

The boys in North Carolina were perfect gentleman, and some were very attractive. The reason, I did not date was not due to lack of interest, but the effect of being so close to my mother. Our life was hard, and though we felt safe in America, our dependence on each other became cemented. That might be acceptable for a widowed mother approaching her mid-40s but not for a teenage girl. Something that will lead to the worse conflict of our lives.

            Mario and I talked several times during the day. His sweetness and smile, oh what teeth!  Just intensified at each meeting. He understood that I could only speak on the phone before nine PM. “I have so much work to do.” He wished he were so academically motivated. The truth was that my mother arrived home after nine. I was afraid to tell her about Mario. My fears were magnifying as the days passed. Mario managed to get tickets to the Prom. He did not plan to attend, as his ex-girlfriend was going with someone else. But using his service to the school, evidently he was a decent football player and helped sell drinks and chips at basketball games, the young man was allowed to purchase tickets.

            Can you guess whom he asked? Can you guess what the lead-in for Part 6 is?

            TELLING MOTHER!


Stories of the Bru—A Bru discovers Brooklyn—Part 4

                                                  My mind is occupied

Maria did not mind waiting with me in front of the main entrance. My mother called and was only a few minutes away. She would be taking me home. It was embarrassing, but my new friend would not let me feel ashamed. It seemed that all the school knew her as every passerby would stop and chat, or just flash a friendly wave. I was introduced as if a long time buddy, and was treated as such.

            “Rosita,” my new American name. “I wish my mother would worry about me like that.” Maria stated. She was a few inches taller than me, but outweighed me by a considerable amount. The weight difference was pointed out by her your almost invisible comment concerning my frame.

The dark complexion, mirroring mine, young girl wore a strained Aero stringed T over a capped pink top. The white T clung to her stomach, which was not large and even looked minute compared to her bust line. Then I pondered with devilish intent, that her upper body could dwarf the building to our front. Another thought was the abundance of young women in America that possessed shapes such as she. Should Maria walk down the streets of Lao Bao, every single man would wish to speak to her parents concerning marriage. Maybe some married ones, also?

            “I got to ask you, girl.” Her gum chewing consisted of several quick jaw gyrations and then a smack. She was quite noisy. “Are all you Chino girls…you know?” Those round eyes were glued to my non-existent breasts. Or, almost non-existent.

            I gave up trying to tell her I was not Chinese, but I saw her confusion doubled when I denied being Vietnamese earlier in the day. Even though she did understand I was Bru. She still was not sure where I came from.

I could see the bewildered look as I explained my name translated from Viet means water flower. Thus, I was christened Rosita. She said it fit me. I possessed a floral quality and she loved roses. Who was I to argue? I knew she knew Mario. I was naïve, but not stupid. And she did say it was time for an American name. Somehow, I did not think Rosita was English.

            My mother approached as Maria was trying to figure what shade of lipstick would attract Mario. It seemed Italian blood flowed through his veins. In her opinion that meant red lipstick and nail polish might make him uncontrollable. My silence only intensified my hearing. Uncontrollable?

 She was holding an eyeliner brush, as she debated using it on my “gorgeous Chino eyes.” My mother stopped abruptly at that comment.

            “Who is she? Are you ok? Anything bad happen?” Mother spoke in our language. Her face shot arrows to all sides of my body. She wanted no one near me. Maria smiled and even bowed slightly. I really loved her, and still do.


            The ride home was not as tense as the one in the morning. I could not control my enthusiasm over the friendship offered by so many students, especially Maria.

            “Mother, she said that I could work on my end of school project at her home.” Each instructor, trying to find an excuse for me being in his or her class with so little time left, gave me a packet to finish. It did cause my first giggle of the day, as they would hand me papers in Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese, a language I could speak but was clueless when it came to reading.

             The chuckle came when bowing to a female Science teacher. The young woman looked as if she should have been facing the teacher’s desk and not sitting behind it.

            “Ok! Now…do you understand English?”

I whispered, “a little,” keeping my eyes peering downward.

            “Which is your language?”

            Embarrassed and fearful of irritating her, though she was more than amicable when Maria introduced us. “None…sorry.” I really was. At that moment I wished I were Chino, as Maria put it.

            “Well,” deciding this was a good time to put hand cream on her palms. “What are you, Filipino?”

            “I am Bru.” Trying not to be heard.

            “You are who?” Her volume grew. “A who? Bru?” I could feel the woman’s head over mine. She continued. “Where is Bru?”

            Maria’s ears twitched. “Oh! I better help.” Rushing to the front.

            “Excuse me, but I am her BFF.” Maria then explained to the confused woman that I was from the country of Bru. It was located somewhere between Vietnam and China and India or maybe near Korea. (I’m not kidding, that was in the explanation.) The young teacher no longer was confused. It seemed she agreed with Maria’s geography lesson.

            This was kept from mother, she showed more interested in the amount of males in my classes. As we prepared our dinner, she was content that no American boy, to mother anyone living in the United States longer than us was an American, tried to talk to me and corrupt my morals. I became interested, but did not state my curiosity. Questions about boys did not have the same hostile tone in North Carolina. I started to realize, mother did not enjoy living in New York City, and trusted teenage males from Brooklyn even less.

            During this intense cross-examination, my lack of information about any of the young men Maria and I socialized with, Maria did all of the socializing, satisfied her curiosity.  My ignorance on the matter was genuine. I did not notice any of the multi-colored and various developing young men of the school. All I could think about was Mario, and that beautiful hair. His soft, yet muscular skin as it strained against the sleeve’s material of his shirt, and that sweet voice. It was gentle, yet masculine. Before I continued in remembering our brief encounter, and subsequent bumping into, courtesy of Maria, I needed to take a breath. Thinking of those emeralds that masqueraded as his eyes did speed my heart. To me there were no other boys in my class. There were no other boys in the world.

            I couldn’t wait till tomorrow. Due to renovations of the gym used by the girls, we would have to split the gymnasium used by the boys. Maria said she was bringing me binoculars. I still don’t know why?


The beginning of her End—Part 5

                               Ripping a Soul Apart

            Knees tucked into the quivering chin could not stop the horrific memory of the night. It was three in the morning, and she still rocked on the bed as if waiting for a mother’s hug or a glass of water after a nightmare. Holding her ankles bought some comfort.

           The whole episode was a bad dream, things like that only happen in the movies. No such luck. Maybe if she stayed rolled up like a ball…maybe no one would know what a slut she was.

            “Oh my Michael. How could I do this to you?” Still wearing the two-piece borrowed from his sister, the specks of dampness on her sheets were not from the wonderful time spent in the woman’s pool.

            “Oh God!” Touching the bikini brief, the moist area brought the young woman close to hysterics. “Oh no…” Her sobbing interrupted the words. “Michael, we can never see each…” swallowing in an attempt to gain strength, it was impossible to complete the sentence. “What can I do?” Shaking the long tangled mop of hair, she was glad it covered her face. The tears ran down non-stop. Clutching the bed sheet, “must control myself.” Her landlord might hear the commotion. A sigh of relief caused the young woman to stretch her legs. Her hands still clutching the front of the spandex brief. The sound of snoring eased that anxious worry.

            “It was so beautiful…it was so…” This night that brought such distress and fear started innocent and free of recriminations. It began with that smile. That wonderful smile.

“Julia, am I late?” That voice, something else to match his lovely smile.

Opening the door was practiced before his arrival. It had to be just right. Not too anxious, but still showing a mild form of enjoyment with his attention.

She drove the older woman wild dressing and undressing.

“How many jeans are you gonna try on?” In her fifties, Sarah grew to love the naïve, respectful and trusting young woman. In less than a year, Julia became more than a monthly check.

“I don’t like these. They are too tight. His sister is older than him. She’ll think I am some tramp.” Julia was ready to peal the black stretch jeans off when the bell rang.

“Oh no!” Caught with the tight garment at her knees.

“His sister is older, but not an old lady. She probably wore the same thing before she got pregnant.”  Martha smirked as she spoke. It was amusing that the young woman had a sudden interest in impressing a stranger.

Julia left for the door. Barefoot, she flew down the beige carpeting. The mirrored wall reflected the nervous strain on the young woman’s face.

Martha picked up another pair of designer jeans lying on the girl’s bed. “My goodness…how do you fit into these things?” Looking at the label. “Five pockets? Are you kidding? It’s too damn tight to ever use one pocket.” The giggles shook her large bosom. “That girl got to eat more. She’s almost invisible.” Smiling at the thought of trying a pair on, “this might fit my right foot?” Extending her leg, “nope.”

Moving to the hall, she hoped to hear Julia’s welcome. If the girl was excited, it was hard to understand her English. The excited young woman would intensify the sweet accent that was so much a part of her character.

“Julia, am I late?” Michael was exactly on time. The young man was stationed in the Mid-East for so long, the proper etiquette of lateness when picking up a young lady was forgotten. Julia still needed to decide on a top. The pink ruffled string A&F T just wouldn’t do with the black jeans.

Drying the watery brown eyes, Julia thought of the night spent with Michael. Michael, and his family.

“This is Julia.” That was all the introduction needed. A whirlwind of hands and kind words flew in all directions. His sister, her husband, the children of another sister and her husband, it just went on and on.

 “Are you coming to the house with us? Will you sleep with Uncle Michael?” That was a question that sent everyone moving. The little girl, while showing pictures of her eight birthday party, wanted to know if Julia was invited to the family shore house. A simple question that would lead to innocent contemplation on where the young woman would sleep.

The home was lovely, she marveled at the patio. Gerry showed Julia around the back, while her younger brother explained to little Angie his relationship with the pretty Chinese lady. Angie’s first description.

Strumming her hands through the bubbling water of the hot tub, Julia would have enjoyed listening to Michael’s explanation. She also needed some direction on that point.

Everything was perfect. Seeing Michael in the bathing suit was rewarding in itself, when he held her close in the middle of the in ground pool, nothing else mattered. Keeping her hands pressed against his chest, she found herself following the outline of slim but defined pectorals. There was no displeasure when the young man brushed against her crutch with a bulging erection. She did not move or react in anyway that might show shock or disapproval. When he realized the sensation was favorable to both, a simple kiss brought them closer.

“Stop that or my wife gets ideas.” The splashing tides of water were courtesy of Jimmy. Married to the oldest sister Mary, the romantic scene brought Angie and little brother James, held by his father, scooping more liquid on the fire brewing between the pair.

“Tom,” Gerry’s husband, “stop that, it’s not his fault. He can’t control himself. She’s got my suit on.” The black polka dot rose colored bikini fit Julia perfect. It was hard to believe that the eight month pregnant Gerry could have once worn it.

“Oh my God! How could this happen?” Shaking on the bed, the sound of the springs expanding and retreating caused the abrupt leap to the floor.

“I can’t wake her. She’d know. She’d know.” Julia wanted Michael’s vision in her mind. It was there, but would be pushed out by those words. Those disgusting words.

“No, please no…” Clutching her ears did not help. She saw John on top of her. Grabbing the brief bottom with both hands, the moisture brought more tears.

“No…No,” sitting in the corner still offered no escape. It was his face grinning and telling her what to say. Demanding her to repeat it.

“Say it…say it…or I’ll pull out and never see you again.”

They were in a motel. How could this happen? She remembered Michael driving away, and then the text. That awful text.

            I’m here. Need to see you. Who is he?

            Ripping the polka dot bottom off she threw it across the room. Its damp touch only brought the memory back. Those words? Why? Why did she repeat them?

            “Beg me to come in you. Beg me…or I’ll never see you again.” The words rammed through her brain. His body slid over her’s oiled by a film of sweat.

Both hands covered the tear soaked face. Shaking the matted hair would do no good. She was in the motel again.

            “Let’s see how your new boyfriend likes you pregnant?” His sarcastic tone increased as the climax neared. “Say it! Say it!”

            The frail voice, strained and broken screamed, “come…come…in me.” As he erupted, so did her tears. But it was too late.

            “Oh my God! Michael I’m so sorry.” She decided there, at that moment, the relationship with Michael would have to end. It must.

            The vibration signaled another text. “Oh no…leave me alone.” John accomplished what he wanted. She was his whore. Why is he doing this?

            “Oh…ohh…” Reading it stopped the pain. She kissed the phone. Them held it to her breast. Looking at it again, she sobbed, but a smile appeared.

            I hope your phone is off. Don’t want to wake you. Could not sleep. Just to say that everyone loved you. Especially me. I will call later today to check on weekend. I really enjoyed tonight. Hope you did too.

Love Michael

            She answered with a whisper. “That’s right…love Michael.” The red, worn eyes closed. The corner felt comfortable.


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