Elliot Mabeuse (28 page)

I got up and went behind her and put my hands on her shoulders, and Emma grabbed on to my hands with hers and held onto me for all she was worth, hoping I could somehow save her, and I tried. I did what I could, but my love was weak right then. I was strong at sexual desire but I didn't know what I had to give this girl who was hurting now but to hold onto her and feel bad along with her, so that's what I did. I held her against me and just hurt with her. I didn't know if that was enough.

"Emma, Emma," I asked. "What's wrong, baby? What is it? What can I do?"

Her head was against my stomach and she picked up the toothbrush. "Why are you giving me this?"

"I thought you might need it, no? Aren't you going to stay with me, Emma?"

"Oh God, Conner! You want me to? But what am I going to do here? I don't know anyone. I don't know the city. I don't fit in it. You have your life and everything. What am I going to do here?"

I knelt down next to her. "Emma? Weren't you here last night? Was that someone else I was with? Was that someone else who was tied up and whipped and hung from the ceiling at three o'clock in the morning?"

She blushed and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Oh, Conner. See? That's what I mean. All that, all those things you say you love me for. It's not good. It's not something I'm proud of, Conner. It's like I'm sick and I'm ashamed of it. It's not what you build a life on. It's just sex. It's not real. That's what I thought David could give me, something real. I need a real life. Not just that kind of thing."

I stared at her for a moment, not comprehending. "No, Emma. You're wrong.

You're exactly wrong. That stuff
is
real. Entirely and exactly real. The things you think you can get from David, that's what's sick. That's what's shameful, and you know it, and that's why you're here with me. The things we did last night, the things we've been doing all along—Emma, it doesn't get any more real than that. I mean—Emma, no offense, but are you crazy? That kind of thing is
exactly
what I want, damn it! I mean
exactly!

And I understand you're confused and you're ashamed of it and you think it's sick and wrong and weird and fucked up but I'm telling you, you don't know what it is, how remarkable, and what a tremendous gift it is, Emma. It's exactly the right thing and

exactly perfect and exquisitely female and it's exactly just what I want—what we all want, the whole sorry planet full of us. It is! It's the very heart and soul of why I'm so crazy in love with you, Emma!

"Because you can do that. Because you can do what you do. Because you're a goddamned goddess made flesh and blood, the link between my poor ass—all of our poor asses—and the very erotic soul of the universe. Without you, precious, and every woman like you, and without the incredible gift of femininity you bring to us, we’re all of us about to shrivel up and fucking die. And with you, we—again, all of us, every poor sucker on this planet—we can expand and grow into something grand and beautiful and magical that takes back the heart of this poor beaten and defeated earth and makes it live again. Emma, don't you understand that? Don't you even understand what you are?"

I was going now, standing up in the kitchen with both arms half spread as if I were on stage at the Green Mill in full declamation mode with the green and red lights upon me, all the thoughts and emotions of the past weeks pouring out of me, suddenly roaring and I couldn't stop.

"Emma, look at me! In the past month you’ve made me fucking soar! And you've soared too, I know it! I've tied you up and I've loved you and I've whipped you and I've held you in my arms and wept with you as you came and I just thought I would die because you made me feel so much, and Emma, that stuff was
real
. And now you're telling me you're
sick
and you're
ashamed
and you want to throw this all away and go back to David and be a clerk's wife and shop at Wal-Mart for the rest of your life? Is that what you're telling me, Emma?"

I stopped then because I'd run out words. I couldn't say anymore because it sounded stupid when you talked about it. That's the way you ruined it was by talking about it and that's what I was doing.

"It's not just sex, Emma. You might feel it in your pussy and your tits and the sway of your hips but I know it's something deeper and you know it too. It's dark, feminine, hungry, giving—it's
erotic
, Emma, the way the poets use the word, the kind of thing the world is starved for. You're saturated in it, dripping with it, and it's a gift. It's something the world needs, baby. It's something I need. It's serious stuff. You can't just peel it off like it's some kind of dirty clothes and walk away from it!"

"Conner, would you stop? Would you just stop playing the poet for once?"

She looked at me and the tears were threatening again, mixed with rage this time.

"You know they have another word for girls like me."

"Well you know what? Fuck them!"

"Yeah. Fuck them. You're a man. You don't know what it's like, to be told you're oversexed, insatiable. It's not a game, Conner."

Emma put her hand over her mouth as if she couldn't say the words. She looked out the window and in the daylight I saw the tears.

"Is it that way with me? Do you think I feel that way about you?"

She shook her head. "But you're crazy too." She started to cry and laugh at the same time. "That's the problem. Oh, Conner, you're just as sick and crazy as I am…"

She picked up a piece of napkin and held it against her eyes as if she were in pain. She looked terribly small and frail there, the shirt falling from her naked shoulders, her half-eaten sandwich in front of her.

Outside across the roof, an El train pulled into the station and rumbled to a halt, making the building vibrate and bringing twilight to the kitchen as the cars cut off the light. We could hear the doors open and the passengers shout, the scuffle of feet on the platform as people headed for the stairs. I had such a clear vision of what she meant to me, of the intense intimacy of fucking her and feeling her rise to her pleasure on my cock, superimposed on the image of the anonymous crowds leaving the train and fanning out into the city. I didn't know what to make of it, how to explain it to her, or what it meant.

"Stand up, Emma."

She looked at me.

"Stand up. I want to show you that it isn't a game. It isn't a game at all."

"Conner—"

I picked her up by the arm and brought her to the window. She came reluctantly and I made her face the platform. The kitchen sink was in the way, so she stood back from the window a few feet, away from the cloudy daylight. She seemed so much smaller than me and she was nearly naked in that oversized shirt, so she was like a doll or a sacrifice, but it wasn't that she was really that small. It was my anger that made me feel big. My anger that she didn't even know what she was. She didn't appreciate herself or know how precious she was.

We watched the train pull away and the light return to the kitchen as the remnants of commuters milled around on the platform. No one noticed us. They couldn't see inside the kitchen where we were.

I stood behind her, reached over and unbuttoned her shirt.

"Conner! Don't!"

"Shh! Don't interfere!"

I pushed her hands away and unbuttoned the shirt and stripped it off her, leaving her naked. I angrily pushed her arms down when she tried to cover herself so she stood naked in front of the window, her breasts exposed. On the platform across the way, a man bent over and looked down the track. A girl leaned against a billboard listening to an iPod. A woman worked a crossword puzzle. A train worker yawned and scratched his ankle.

I held her there naked in front of the window looking out at the people at the El station. Emma's tits were rising and falling in a panic and she was starting to shiver. I knew in my mind they couldn't see us, but still, holding this naked girl in front of me, it was hard to believe. I felt totally visible, even obvious. But none of them seemed to be looking.

"Conner don't! What are you doing?!" The people on the platform were a good twenty yards away but it seemed like they should be able to hear, so she whispered.

She was terrified, rigid with shame.

"You're afraid of what they say, what they think of you? Let them look!"

"Jesus, Conner! For God's sake, stop!"

She turned her head back, trying to hide in me and I grabbed her face, felt the heat of her blush upon her cheeks. I kissed her, plunging my tongue into her mouth, and she tried to pull away, screaming with protest. I grabbed her breast and pulled her against me, smothering her mouth with my kiss as she struggled to break free, but I was angry now and crushed her to me. My other hand slid up her smooth thighs, finding its way against the cloying softness of her pussy, and I began to stroke her. Emma cried out, pulled her head back and tried to bite me, desperate to get away, but I had my arms wrapped around her and was holding her tight. Despite her struggles, I could already feel her nipples getting hard against my palm.

"Stop it! Stop it, Emma! They can't see you, damn it! I'm just trying to show you something!"

"Oh God, Conner! Please!"

"Just calm down! Now stay here!"

I put her down and went into the bedroom, got some rope. When I came back, I quickly lashed her wrists behind her. She let me. For some reason, she let me. Maybe the ropes made her calm, or absolved her of responsibility, or maybe she trusted me, but she let me tie her wrists behind her and take her to the window again.

Outside, all was calm. Nothing had changed. The people still lounged against the platform, stared down the tracks, paced up and down, worked their crossword puzzles.

I stood behind her and held her against me, my hands on her arms, my face in her hair.

"Your world, Emma. My world. Look at it."

"Yes."

There were the people, the buildings, gulls flying in from the lake, the mysteries of infinity on a Chicago afternoon.

My hands circled her breasts—warm, firm, yielding. The flush of arousal seeped through me. I closed my eyes and felt my cock stir, felt my body begin to ache for her.

She grew heavier against me and leaned back.

"Is it good?" I asked.

"Yes."

My finger traced circles around her nipples, slow, gentle rings on the margins of her excitement, and I tapped her there as a vintner taps a wine cask, as if testing for fullness. My lips sought the surrendering curve of her neck, and all over she began to dissolve, like sugar stirred into hot water, making it thick, making it sweet.

Though my lips were on her neck, I felt her smile. "Yes it's good. You know it's good, Conner."

My right hand left her breast, slid down her body and found her belly, the soft skin over her muscular core.

She leaned back harder against me, a tree without roots. On the platform, the people were frozen in time, looking at their watches, popping mints into their mouths. A man with a coat over his arm glanced at our window. If he saw me fondling and kissing this bound and naked woman in the shadows of my kitchen, he didn't give any sign, and for me the entire scene outside began to take on a surreal and erotic haze, a kind of sensual, intoxicated depth. Emma moaned softly as she breathed and her bound hands

moved at my jeans, her fingers searching for my prick, wanting to feel me. My hand slid lower, over her pubic arch, teasing her, then down to her legs. I raked my nails over her thighs and she gasped and parted her legs in invitation, shameless now.

I kissed her ear and licked the fine outer shell, feeling goose bumps wash over her breasts. I breathed in her ear and whispered, "Look out the window, Emma. Look at the world I've brought you. Look at what I'm giving you, Emma. Tell me what you see."

My hands slid down into her pussy now and Emma sighed. As my fingers curled beneath her, into her wetness, she met me with a subtle lift of her hips and I saw her half open her eyes. A lascivious smile spread on her lips, "Oh, baby. It's beautiful just like you said. But you make it like that, Conner. You make it like that when you touch me."

"No, precious. You do. This is how things are for us, Emma. This is what I'm trying to show you. This is your gift. Don’t throw this away. Don't ever throw this away."

She closed her eyes as if it was all too much and she started to move her hips.

Her body wanted it. I knew how it was with her. She might think it was just sex but she wanted it all, everything that was outside that window and more. I knew because I was the same way. I wanted it all too but the closest I could come to having it was through sex, through these inchoate sexual yearnings, and I could feel Emma suddenly overwhelmed, faint with longing.

I pulled her away from the window and unlashed her wrists, taking her in my arms and kissing her, standing in the kitchen as a train roared into the stop and blocked the sun. Bars of light cut between the cars and fell on us like hammer blows as we

kissed. I was dimly aware of the sound as the people from the platform climbed on the train. When the train pulled out and the light returned, we were still there, still standing in that kitchen locked in that kiss, Emma naked with the ropes hanging from her wrists, pressing her body against mine, our mouths wet and hot, totally blind to the world. I was breathless, lost, enraged with her, filled with her. I couldn't get enough, would never get enough.