Awakening (5 page)

While he brushed his teeth, Evan considered himself in the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. He looked old. Haggard. His once jet black hair was now greying at the temples and he sported more lines around his eyes and mouth. They weren’t laugh lines either; they were the markings of pain and grief. His eyes were currently bleary and promised to be bloodshot in the morning. The rest had remained remarkably unchanged. He was tall and lean from lots of swimming, his preferred method of distraction. His muscles were still firm and he wasn’t showing any of the tell-tale signs of softening that came with middle-age. He supposed he was relatively well preserved for 45.

He swished and spit and still he didn’t get into the shower despite the coils of steam rising from behind the navy blue shower curtain and fogging his mirror. He simply stood there, naked as the day he was born, and stared at the shower. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to feel anything sexual. He had learnt to live with his celibacy. He’d embraced it even. Anything was better than the pain.

Blowing out a rough breath, Evan stepped under the wet spray. The hot water pummelled his skin with searing, stinging punches. He quickly adjusted the temperature and, turning, planted himself under the warm, wet fall so that the water coated his body. The heat seeped into his muscles, loosening him up and relaxing the tension he hadn’t even realised had settled between his shoulder blades. For long moments, Evan just absorbed the moist heat into his body. He blanked out everything except the feel of the water smacking his skin and then stroking down his body.

The water flowed off his penis in wet rivulets. Tiny streamers stroked him, the damp heat reminiscent of small tongues on his flesh. Evan contemplated his dick. For the last year the only time he’d touched it had been purely functional. He barely remembered touching himself in pleasure. It was kind of like meeting up with someone you used to be really close with only to find out that you didn’t really have anything in common any more. Instead of falling back into easy camaraderie, there were long, awkward silences and uncomfortable avoidance.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, letting the water fall across his face. He really didn’t want to do this, but after what had happened with Claire he knew it was better to get it over with. An apple a day and all that. As if to confirm the thought, his cock stirred at the image of her delicate face that formed in his mind, but there was no way he was masturbating to Claire. His brain seemed to disagree, since this time the image of her hard nipples flashed through his mind. His cock twitched and lengthened painfully.

Oh. Hell no.

Evan thought back to the album and his favourite image of Marianne, cuffed and kneeling. His cock softened. He stared at his penis in growing horror. Taking it firmly in his hand, he began to stroke along the head as he pictured Marianne in his mind. He got softer. Panic washed through his body so hard his knees almost gave out.
No, no, no, no!

With a fierce shake of his head, he built the fantasy, so familiar and loved, of Marianne. Eventually, he hardened. He continued to work his shaft efficiently, finding the rhythm that had once been second nature. He held her image in his mind and stroked, and stroked, and stroked. It wasn’t happening. He wasn’t even close. It felt good, but it was more pleasant than pleasurable.

He dropped his cock, and watched it bounce before settling as it softened. Damn her. Why’d she come into his store? His cock punched out into full hardness at the thought of Claire. Horror flooded Evan at his body’s betrayal.
No fucking way!

Again, Evan squeezed his eyes shut and studiously formed the image of Marianne in his mind. This time going more graphic and raw. He remembered taking her from behind, plunging into her rapidly and gripping her hips so hard he would leave behind hand prints. He took the fantasy further, imagining pulling out and pressing deeply into her ass. He’d always loved fucking her that way. She’d loved it too. Pressing back into him, bucking against him as he ground into her. His cock stayed hard.

OK, I can do this.

He stayed with that image. Her round ass squeezed around his cock as he plunged in and out. The ruby pucker of her anus stretched around his cockhead. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as his balls tightened. It wouldn’t be long now. He felt the tightening in his lower back and he went home for the kill, building the image of the thing he’d loved best during anal sex, fisting her hair as he fucked her. The utter supplication of the position never failed to bring on a scorching orgasm. Evan imagined trailing his eyes up her body, the silky skin and finely boned ridge of her spine, to where her long hair draped over her shoulders, and fisting the honey-coloured locks –

What?
No! Not honey, black!

The anguished thought flooded Evan’s brain as his eyes snapped wide. Too late. His cock spasmed and bucked as his orgasm seized him brutally. Jet after jet shot from his body as waves of pleasure washed over him. Shaking, Evan leant his head back under the water and let the rivulets wash across his face, all the while telling himself his eyes really just burned from the hot water.

Chapter Four – Finally a Friend

‘N
ICE JOB
.’ B
RIDGET
R
OSS
came over to congratulate Claire on leading the discussion on the club’s most recent selection. Jean had been quite serious about Claire leading that second discussion and, in the weeks that followed, she’d called on Claire to lead the discussion twice more.

That first time had been excruciating for Claire; she was the perpetual shadow, not the holder of the spotlight. Claire was a member of many online groups in a variety of communities, but she was a lurker by nature, not a joiner. She liked to sit back and read or listen to discussions, but she rarely joined in unless something was so compelling that she just couldn’t be quiet. Jean, however, wouldn’t be dissuaded no matter what Claire said. It was as if she’d decided to take Claire under her wing or something. She was constantly asking Claire’s opinion or deliberately putting her in a position to have to join the discussion. Claire had caved in the end and she had to admit it was nice to be a part of the group rather than just on the fringes. She’d even struck up an acquaintance with Bridget, a fellow newbie.

Bridget was a chemistry professor at the local university, a fact which never failed to amuse Claire. She looked like she should be a member of the Pussycat Dolls, not teaching college freshmen about protons and electrons. She was so short at an even five feet she made Claire seem tall. Her luxurious, golden-red hair was long and curly and she kept it neatly tied up in a ponytail most days. She had clear, green eyes like so many redheads, and a dusting of freckles on porcelain skin, but she had the body of a pin-up girl. With large, full breasts and round hips, she made Claire feel positively boyish.

But no matter how insecure she felt in her looks next to Bridget, she simply couldn’t be uncomfortable around her. The woman had a vivacious and accepting quality about her that was infectious. She made you feel better just being in her presence. She was unfailingly friendly and polite. She was funny and warm. Claire had never felt so accepted and welcomed before. In the three weeks since she’d joined the club, she and Bridget had begun to talk more and more and had even shared coffee a few times after meetings.

‘Thanks. It’s getting easier.’ Claire smiled at her. ‘I wish she’d let me off the hook, though. It’s almost as if she’s made getting me to speak at these meetings her personal mission.’

‘Oh, she has,’ Bridget said with a wave of her small, delicately boned hand. ‘Jean is like a little mother hen. I’ve known her for years. She was the president of the PTA when I was still teaching high school chemistry, but only recently did she get me join her club. She took one look at you, my friend, and decided you were going to open up.’

Claire stared at Bridget, dumbfounded. ‘Why on earth would she decide to do that?’

‘All I know is she called me after the meeting to get on me about not showing up – I was supposed to be here that first night you came but I had car trouble – and mentioned to me that there was a new member who seemed afraid of her own shadow.’

‘What?’ Claire gave an indignant snort to which Bridget just raised her eyebrows. ‘Fine, I’m a little shy around a crowd of strangers. Is that some kind of crime?’

‘All right now, hon, calm down.’ She leant over and patted Claire’s knee where they sat on either side of the square coffee table in the reading area. ‘You
are
afraid of your own shadow, but you’re gettin’ better.’ Bridget had a slight twang from being born and raised in West Virginia that she hadn’t quite lost. As a result, she had a lilting quality to her speech that tended to lull you as she spoke.

‘What do you mean?’ A touch of defensiveness coated Claire’s words.

‘Now, hon, let’s not play games with each other. I like you and I don’t lie to people I like. You lead the discussions quite well and you voice your opinions and musings on the stories, but you clam up the instant you have to share anything personal. It’s almost as if you’re OK with people picking your brain so long as it’s neutral territory, but not with anyone getting to know you.’

‘
You’re
getting to know me,’ Claire insisted as she sipped on her coffee. It was a new flavour, something rich and chocolaty, almost mocha-like. The silky brew flowed over her taste buds and she swallowed rapturously. Evan served the best coffee. Next to the book selection, it was her favourite part of coming to Bibliophile.

Evan, now he was a whole different story. Where she’d really begun to feel welcome within the group, she felt only tolerated by the store’s brooding owner. At least, brooding where she was concerned. She’d noticed he only seemed to be that way with her. With everyone else he was friendly and solicitous, and with Bridget, he was downright affectionate.

She didn’t take offence to it, really; after what had happened that first night, she figured she’d managed to disgust him royally, but she liked Bibliophile too much to give it up. She was spending a lot of time here, reading and hanging out, and he was reaping the benefits of her book addiction so she didn’t feel like she was imposing. But, if she were being completely honest, she felt self-conscious when he was around. His treatment of her made her feel like there was something wrong with her since he was so nice to everyone else. He wasn’t mean to her, he was scrupulously polite, but that was just it. He was relaxed and even joked with other customers, but with her he only spoke when it was absolutely necessary for him to do so. Other than that, he basically ignored her.

‘Hon?’ Bridget drew her attention back to their conversation. ‘Did you hear me?’

Claire flushed brightly. ‘I’m sorry, Bridget. My mind wandered. What did you say?’

‘I asked you why you shy away from sharing anything remotely personal?’

Claire stared down into her coffee, wondering how to respond to Bridget. She liked her too much to lie to her, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face her rejection if she knew too much about her past. Bridget sat quietly, sipping her coffee, and just waited.

Claire set her coffee down on the table and clasped her hands in her lap. Several times she took a deep breath to start speaking. Even went so far as to open her mouth. Each time, though, nothing came out. She probably looked like a beached fish. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap and took another deep breath …

‘I was raped.’

‘What!’ Claire spluttered as her own words died on her lips.

‘It happened when I was 22 and too trusting of the world for my own good,’ She gave Claire a sad, tight smile. It was the first time Claire had ever seen her look uncomfortable. ‘I was visiting a friend at his dorm in order to return the notes I’d borrowed. He’d warned me about coming to his dorm unescorted, but I hadn’t been able to reach him and figured I’d just slip them under his door. I was on my way out and one of his floor mates came out and started talking to me. I had seen him before and thought he was cute. He invited me into his room to talk –’ she put air quotes around “talk” ‘– and, well, he raped me.’ She leant over and picked her coffee back up. Claire saw the cup tremble just a little.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked softly. She was stunned at Bridget’s revelation.

‘Because,’ Bridget put her cup back down and faced Claire, her tone softly brisk, ‘you need to understand that everyone has secret shames that they hide. Things in their past that they wish didn’t exist or they could redo, but those things don’t have to define us. Mine doesn’t and
yours
don’t have to.’

Claire stared at Bridget for several long moments. Her clear, green eyes were warm and just a bit sad, but she saw only sincerity in them. Claire wanted to share with Bridget, share her shame. Maybe then she could work through it, but she was also afraid. Bridget was the first person she’d felt any connection to since she was a child. And, Claire realised in that moment, Bridget’s opinion mattered to her.

It wasn’t often that Claire met someone she felt she could respect. Bridget had proven to be everything she said she was and Claire was almost in awe of her. She was so open and affectionate. And now, knowing how she’d been violated, that feeling of awed admiration only deepened. This, of course, meant Claire was even more intimidated by her.

This is it, Claire. Your first real test. Are you going to live or continue to die a little every day?

Claire picked her own coffee up from where she’d placed it on the table. All desire for the drink had fled; she just wanted something to do with her hands. ‘I --’ She faltered, but determinedly straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, ‘I spent over 14 years in an abusive relationship with a man I didn’t love. But –’ She held up a hand to stave off whatever Bridget was about to say. She’d opened her mouth, clearly intending to speak. ‘No, let me finish, please. You see, I was the abuser, not him.’