Hope (3 page)

“Do you think… dreams like that can be real?  Was she truly trying to tell me something?”

“I can’t honestly say, Clinton.  Sometimes a dream is just a dream.  Who is Diana anyway?”

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know anybody named Diana except my Grandmother and she’s over a hundred years old.  And my Grandmother!”  He finished with a surrendering shake of his head.

“Hmmm.  And your wife never suggested bringing your Grandmother into the relationship before she passed?”

I tried to lighten the mood a bit, knowing full well that my sense of humour had caused more offence than laughs in the past.  To my relief Clinton guffawed deeply, holding his belly and doubling over while confirming his wife had never implied anything of the sort.  Clinton gradually regained control of himself and sat back in his chair looking like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Thanks for that… and for not running a mile.  I know that was kind of too much information for someone you just met.”

“That’s ok.  I’m really sorry for your loss, Clinton, for what it’s worth.  Your devotion is… a rare thing.  A beautiful thing.  That much I know.”

“Thanks… I … she deserves it.”  Clinton blushed.

“Listen, I’ve got to get going.  A customer has an urgent translation he needs done.  I don’t know why, after eight hundred years untranslated, it’s suddenly urgent but he’s paying top dollar for it so who am I to argue?”

“Fair enough, Mary, duty calls.  I understand.  See you around?”

“Definitely.”

*****

Working quickly on a translation was no problem for me.  Unfortunately due to some problem at my customer’s end that he couldn’t explain he was unable to pay by electronic funds transfer as he usually did and had to send me a cheque.  I was very reluctant to do this, standing in a line with the same people for a long time can be dangerous for me, or rather for the relationships of the men in the line with me.  Still, there didn’t seem to be any choice in this case so I agreed.

I kept busy, seeking out sex with local single men and setting up an account online on another freelancing website.  My thoughts regularly strayed back to Clinton though.  From deep inside myself I felt hope rattling the bars of the prison I had created for it.  Clinton’s love and grief for his wife and daughter were giving him an immunity to my curse unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  Was it possible he had the strength to resist long enough to get to know me?  To… love me maybe?  Was I even lovable?

I stopped my internal monologue, down that path lays madness.  I didn’t dare entertain those thoughts, a millennia of evidence was stacked against the possibility.  However, sitting at home with no translation work left to do and Clinton on my mind I found myself with idle hands.

Lying on my bed I closed my eyes and thought about what he would be like to make love to.  My hands roamed all over my body, stoking the firm flesh that hadn’t aged in a thousand years.  I slipped my left hand under my shirt to hold my right breast, gripping the soft mound and pulling the cup of my bra down to expose my nipple.  I gently brought my fingers together to pinch and roll it to hardness, sending a tingle of pleasure shooting through my body.  I bit my lip and turned my head to the side, enjoying the clean smell of my luxurious red hair as I imagined it was Clinton’s hands caressing my skin.

Was he rough or gentle?  I alternated between urgent squeezes and lightly trailing my fingers over my sensitive nipple and taut navel.  I flexed my leg muscles, pushing my thighs together and then releasing over and over, subtly stimulating my sex while I pictured Clinton moving over me and penetrating me deeply.  I thought about how good he would feel inside me, my legs wrapped around him to hold him in place until we had extracted all the pleasure we possibly could from each other’s bodies.

I reached down with my right hand and dragged my short skirt up to my hips before pushing my fingers under the waistband of my panties.  My middle finger traced down the thin line of well-trimmed pubic hair above my folds, fingers to either side rubbed on smooth skin, as my hand descended between my legs.  I was not in the slightest bit surprised to find myself already wet and eager when my fingers slid over my clit and arrived at my entrance.

I slipped my middle finger inside myself and squeezed it.  I felt a smile curl my lips as my finger slid deeper, slowly working through the slick tightness.  I’d had sex with countless men, big and small, but my body never strayed from fresh, youthful perfection, the muscles gripping my finger were like that of a horny virgin, irresistible to all who had strayed into my area of influence.  My whole purpose in life was to be irresistible and I imagined Clinton pulling my legs over his shoulders to push his manhood into me as far as it would go, jack hammering me like the world was going to end at any moment and he needed the release.  It turned out the Clinton of my fantasy liked it rougher than average.

With my finger coated in my own juices I began sliding it in and out of myself in time with the movements of my fictional lover.  My hand made tantalising contact with my clit each time my finger bottomed out, stoking the fire previously sparked by my other hand on my nipple.  My hips began involuntarily writhing, moving to the sound of some silent music and thrusting back up towards the Clinton in my mind so our bodies would meet with solid contact each time his thickness plunged into me.

A fuzzy ball of ecstasy grew inside me as I penetrated myself with my finger repeatedly until I couldn’t hold myself back anymore and pulled my digit out to franticly flick it back and forth across my clit.  The change in sensation drove me wild and beyond the point of no return, pleasure exploded from between my legs to the furthest reaches of my limbs.  I screamed and moaned my way through my orgasm, oblivious to everything around me as I concentrated solely on the humming ecstasy overwhelming all my senses.

As my orgasm faded the world slowly swam back into focus and I was once more alone on my bed, the phantom Clinton having departed somewhere in the midst of my passion.  I lay there for a while catching my breath and basked in the afterglow.  I was just about to get a glass of water when there was a knock at the door.  I jumped up, rearranged my bra back into place and looked forlornly at my suitcase, there probably wasn’t time to change my sopping panties before what was no doubt an enthralled man at the front door battered it down.

I walked shakily to the door, my legs still quivering from the recent pleasure, and opened it.  It was Clinton.  A range of emotions flickered through me.  Firstly there was the secret embarrassment of being confronted by the man you’d just masturbated to, even though he surely couldn’t know.  I did wonder if he had heard my screams of passion from next door, even a succubus wants to keep
some
things private.  Secondly there was fear, had my curse caused Clinton’s lust to overcome his love and grief?  Was this the end of that glimmer of hope?

Lastly there was a very unfamiliar feeling for me.  I realised I was very happy to see him.  Whenever a man knocked at my door in the past it always meant one thing and one thing only.  Whenever I was alone with a man in the past it always meant the same thing.  Clinton had been different though and aside from the momentary relief from the most blatant aspect of my curse and aside from the fact that I was obviously physically attracted to him, he had showed me kindness and trusted me with something that was important to him.  In my thousand years of always being hunted and usually being caught but constantly feeling alone he was unique in all the world.  I smiled hopefully.

“Hi Clinton, everything ok?”

“Of course.  Why, what have you heard?”

“Uh… nothing.”

“Right.  I just wanted to return your plate, I finished the cake.”

He handed over the now clean plate and though I knew he must have thrown it away or used it as rat poison in traps at his school I didn’t question his statement and push him deeper into his white lie.

“Also, you said it was Latin you translate, right?”

“Yeah, Medieval Latin for the most part.  Why?”

“I was wondering if you could help me with this?”

Clinton gave me a folded piece of paper and then stood there nervously transferring weight from one foot too the other as I unfolded it and spread it out flat on the plate.  I looked at the text that had been handwritten on the paper, then to Clinton and then back to the paper.  I smirked.

“Well, it’s a bit more modern than the stuff I usually work with, so my translation might be a little… clinical, lacking a feel for how the words were really used as a living language.  However, roughly, it says ‘Are you with dinner?’”

Clinton looked not crestfallen but definitely somewhat deflated and sighed before shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s what I get for trying to be Mister Smooth I guess.  I thought it looked too short to say everything.  So… um… I’ll just say it.  It was supposed to read ‘Will you join me for dinner tonight?’”

“Like… a date?”

“Yeah.  Unless you’re seeing somebody else.  Or if you hate me I wouldn’t insist on it either.”

My heart fluttered in my chest like when… I couldn’t remember it ever doing that before actually.

“I’d love to!” I squealed then composed myself and cleared my throat. “I mean… yes, I think I’m free tonight.”

“Great!  Shall we say seven o’clock?  We can walk into the centre of town easily from here and there’s a little Italian restaurant that hasn’t caused anybody food poisoning in quite some time, if you like that style of food.”

“Food that doesn’t kill me is the best style, so that sounds wonderful.  Thank you… see you at seven?”

“Yep, I’ll come back then.  Bye!” He waved cheerfully and spun on his heel as I closed the door with a wave of my own.

I leaned backwards against the closed door and crushed the plate to my chest, I’m surprised it didn’t break.  I raced to my suitcase to try to find something suitable to wear, tossing clothes around until it looked like a stereotypical teenager’s room from a movie.  After several outfits were considered and discarded I felt a pain in my cheeks.  I was momentarily confused but then realised I was developing a cramp from smiling so hard for so long.

*****

Seven o’clock rolled around pretty quickly and Clinton was right on time, obviously the logistics of getting from his place to mine weren’t too complicated.  I dressed conservatively even though I desperately wanted to put on something sexy for my first ever date.  The problem was that I didn’t want to attract too much attention, going to a restaurant was already flirting with disaster but I had to take the chance.  I just had to.

Clinton had transferred to smart-casual from the usual full-casual attire I’d always seen him in up to that point and he cleaned up
very
nicely.  He looked like the world’s most eligible bachelor but whenever he said or did anything he kept his down to earth good humour and adorable mannerisms.  He offered me his elbow and I let him lead me towards town.

Conversation flowed easily during the walk.  He told me about various points of interest in Riverfield, things that had happened there, funny things his students thought were correct answers that they handed in for homework.  I told him about some of the places I’d been and some of the more oddball things I’d translated over the years.  The restaurant and food were both excellent, the last thing I had eaten was the abomination cake and I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten before that.  What I did know is that I hoped to taste lasagne that good again someday soon.

“I’m sure you get asked this all the time so I haven’t mentioned it, but I can’t hold myself back anymore.  Where did you get those contact lenses?  I’ve seen them in different colours and designs before but those are really interesting.”

“Believe it or not, they aren’t contacts.”

“You’re kidding me…”

Clinton stood and bent close, I turned my face to the light so he could see and caught a smell of his aftershave.  I nervously licked my lips, unconsciously preparing myself for a kiss, but he sat down again.

“I don’t want to sound cheesy or anything, but your eyes are absolutely beautiful.  Whenever there’s a documentary about the sun, yes I’m a geek, they usually show an image of it filtered so you can see more detail, solar flares, currents, hot and cold spots, that kind of thing.  That’s what your eyes look like, as if they’ve trapped the sun.  I swear they would glow in the dark.”

“Um…”

Truth be told they
did
glow in the dark a little, but I wasn’t sure how to explain that, so I averted my gaze away from him.  That’s when I noticed a disturbing fact that I should have been aware of before, if I hadn’t been so swept up in having my first date.  There were several other couples and families in the room having dinner.  The men all appeared to be struggling keeping their eyes and minds at their own tables.  Many were flicking their eyes towards me and then back to the people they were sitting with, some were openly staring and ignoring almost everything else.

At that moment I felt a hand placed on my shoulder from behind and begin to creep forward towards my breast.  I looked up and shied away from the young man who had been our waiter that night, an ex-student of Clinton’s named Tom.  Tom was a big guy, way over six feet tall and built like a tank.  A tank that had eaten a bit too much recently and softened around the edges but underneath there was still a tank.

“Tom!”

Clinton’s voice was sharp and filled with all the authority a teacher can muster.  The waiter shook his head from side to side and snatched his hand back with a confused look on his face that turned red in embarrassment.

“Holy shit!  Sorry, Mister Waters, Ma’am… I don’t know what I was… holy shit… listen, your meal’s on me.  Please don’t tell my boss?”

“Are you ok?” Clinton asked me.

“Yes.  Can we just go?”

Clinton glared at the flustered giant, who hung his head in shame, as we left.  I was surprised that Clinton had been able to snap him out of his trance but I was sure this would mean more trouble later.  My god, I was right about that.