On the Far Side of Darkness (20 page)

“Shit,” my woman gasps, “so good, so good. You always, know, where to, touch me.” Her body squirms, the madness that grips her forcing her to move in random motions.

One of my hands releases the buttock it holds, runs along her perineum. Arriving at her labia I pet them, scissor them between my fingers. They become soaked with the fluids dribbling from my love.

Diane squeals at my touch, her body shakes. “Inside,” she huffs, “please.”

I stiffen two fingers and push them into her, running deep. In spite of the tight clamping of her channel I enter easily for my darling Diane is very wet. I start to pump, a languorous rhythm that makes her twitch, as if I’m pulling a string connected to all her muscles.

She grits out words as I thrust into her. “Georges. Good. So, good. Love, you. Don’t, stop.” Her hips begin to match the pace of my fingers. She clasps them very tight.

So I speed up, work a little harder. My tongue presses more firmly against her clit, pushing against it with vigor.

Diane grabs my head, pulls at my hair. “Yes!” she cries. “That’s it!” All her muscles tighten, showing how close she is.

My fingers find that so sensitive spot inside her. I push against it, rub it hard.

And Diane falls.

She draws in a breath, and lets it out with a bellow. She humps and jerks, her orgasm seizing complete control of her. Warm honey flows from her to dampen my hand. Her cry ends, a jerking moan replaces it, a sound rich with heat.

Diane relaxes, her climax pulls back. Just a little. But I continue working, teasing. My tongue reduces its pressure to a feather touch. I know she’ll be too sensitive to handle a firm contact. All this hits her still high lust. It swells up and explodes in her once more.

Again, she pulls me tight. Again, her wetness dribbles down my fingers. Again, she jerks and moans, twitches and hisses. She releases the pent up energy she’s carried so long.

My sweet love softens. But her womanhood still clutches at me, demanding my touch. The shoulders of my shirt are growing damp with the sweat my play forces from her pores.

I don’t stop. This moment is going to be very special, a moment she’ll hardly remember and never forget. My fingers pump, my tongue laves. In moments, she climaxes again. Diane keens with joy, shakes and shimmies with the delight blasting through her.

We go on, and on, and on. She never stops demanding and I never stop answering.

Abruptly, she straightens, every muscle cords to its maximum. Sweet Diane draws in a long, shaking breath that sounds as if it’s her last one.

Then she wilts, her body turns to jelly. I leave off my playing, withdraw my fingers from her. Gently, I lower her until she’s seated in my lap.

Diane just lies against me, panting hard. I look down and her eyes are blank, her jaw slack. She twitches as random little shocks race through her. I smile, bask in the warmth of her glow. I don’t know how I continued to exist without her and the joy of her happiness.

She’s a strong woman. Soon, my lover sighs, places her arms around me and hugs softly. “Georges,” she whispers, “don’t ever do that again.”

“Make love to you?” I ask, a smile on my lips.

She chuckles. “No. Leave me.” Her head leans back and she looks into my eyes. “I couldn’t stand it. I need you, Georges. I love you.”

I take her lips in mine and give her a soft kiss. “
Moi aussi, cher. Je t’adore
. I’ll never leave you again.”

You may leave me after our talk though.
I succeed in keeping the terror this thought brings from showing on my face.

I look at the clock on the night stand next to the bed. It’s less than an hour until dawn.

“Let’s get you to bed. You need your sleep,” I tell her with a sly wink.

She smiles. “I sure do after that.” Her pleased expression fades, just a little. “I’d ask you to stay, but I know you won’t.” Her eyes glisten with tears.

“Not won’t, can’t. You’ll find out why in two nights’ time. Now to bed with you.”

I place her in the bed and kiss her goodbye. “I’ll be here at 8:30. Sleep well,
cheri
.”

She smiles, snuggles into the rich linen and fades.

I leave the room, making sure the door is locked and descend to the lobby. The desk clerk tries to give me a bland smile, but envy and humor shape her lips. I wink back and continue on my way.

Hustling now because the sky is lightening, I take the streets necessary for me to get to my haven. As I walk the sidewalks of my city, I’m filled with the loveliest of feelings. It’s been one of the best nights of my existence. My risk has paid off. Diane is here and we still love one another. We have one more hurdle to cross. I’m sure we’ll cross it together.

Conflict

I’m on time the next night, and Diane is waiting for me. She’s only been awake a couple of hours. What we did in the very early morning made her sleep deep, dreamless and long.

First we have dinner at a small café where we can people watch. When we’re done it’s still early enough that we can visit the Eiffel Tower. It’s a tourist trap, I know. But it has a wonderful view of the city that may soon be her new home. I lead her to each corner of the observation deck, step behind and wrap my arms around her. With my chin on her head I tell about what we see, and what was there in the past.

I remember this place before Hausmann changed it. Back then much of Paris was a teeming slum, poverty stricken and crime filled. Riots frequently broke out which the army and gendarmes found themselves hard pressed to put them down. I hardly blamed the rioters, despair makes you do strange things.

So Paris was rebuilt to house the expanding middle class. The new straight and wide avenues were perfect for cavalry charges and cannon fire so any riots would be ended quickly.

The poor ended up north of the city, refugees in their own country. It’s hardly surprising that those times they had the vote, they voted Communist.

Much of those areas are still poor, only now the poor are immigrants rather than French, and as recent events have shown the problems of despair still plague them.

Diane listens as I talk. She snuggles into me and holds my arms with love. When I’m done she kisses me, thanks me for the history lesson. Her smile shows how happy she is.

Then we proceed to street level and I take her on a walking tour. The places I pointed out are observed close up and I tell her more about each one. I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. I love this city. It’s been my home for so much of my existence. I’ll always be here, if just in spirit.

After several hours Diane’s a bit footsore. “Let’s go home, Georges,” she asks. “I need to lie down for a while.” Her lickerish smile tells me what she wants while she’s lying down.

Our route back to the hotel goes through backstreets to shorten our walk. We’re halfway down one when a man steps out of a doorway ten meters in front of us. A big man who turns in our direction and who moves with purpose. He clenches both fists.

At the same moment I hear two more men moving in behind us.

Without thought I grab Diane’s hand and shout, “Run!” I burst forward, pulling her with me. A moment before we reach the assailant in front of us, I let her go, move in front of her. His fist whistles over my head as I set my shoulder in our assailant’s midriff and straighten. He flips over me and lands on the concrete with a sound that tells me his head impacted first.
Good
flits across my mind and I form a wicked, satisfied smile. He won’t be following us any longer.

Diane dashes past and I fall in behind her. “Left,” I direct her. We run down another narrow street. I can hear the pounding of our pursuers. They’re drawing closer but not quickly. But if they get much closer I’ll pick my lover up and carry her. I’ll blame the speed at which we move on adrenaline. It’s not yet time for our talk.

It isn’t necessary. We go right at the next intersection. A wide and busy boulevard can be seen at the end of it. Brighter light and more people surround us when we dash there. I turn us in the direction of the
Henri IV
and we run some more, dodging around pedestrians.

A quick glance back tell me our assailants have not followed. There are too many witnesses for them to pursue us farther. “Stop,” I gasp. I don’t need to but hiding what I am is automatic. My love and I pull up. She’s panting hard with exertion.

As we regain our breath Diane looks at me and asks, “Is that what I think it was?”

“Yes. Someone tried to mug us.” Honest perplexity makes me frown. “That’s never happened to me in this city before.” That’s a semi-lie. It hasn’t happened in Diane’s lifetime.

Diane’s face scrunches and her eyes fill with tears. She hugs me close and weeps. Her fear leaks down her cheeks with her tears.

I hold her close, stroking her hair, whispering endearments, praising her courage. Such actions are a joy to me. It’s so rare for me to comfort some one, and that it is a person so dear adds depth to my emotions.

My auburn haired love is a strong woman and soon pulls away to give me an unsteady smile. Her body trembles still with reaction. “Should we call the police?” she asks, her voice shaking.

The unease I feel at that idea doesn’t show on my features.
I’d rather not involve officialdom in my existence.
“What can we tell them? I didn’t get a good look at any of them. They’re long gone. Let’s chalk it up to experience and let it pass. Now, come on. I think you could use a drink.”

I lead her to a nearby bar. It has the bourbon I know she’s fond of. She tosses it down when it arrives. That’s followed by a woofing gasp as the liquor burns her throat and her body stops trembling.

“You sure surprised me,” Diane remarks then. “You reacted so fast, and you took that guy out so easily.” She turns to me with that sharp look of inquiry is on her face. “That’s another thing we’ll be talking about, isn’t it?”

I smile at her. “Yes it is. Now let’s get you back to your hotel.”

So we continue in our way. On arrival we go straight to her room. We encounter the night porter again. He pointedly ignores us. There’s also an aura of unease about him. Perhaps he is embarrassed by our rather loud display last night.

Once inside, we just lie on the bed and cuddle. After what just happened, neither of us is in the mood. We talk lightly, telling little jokes, chatting about things that have happened in our lives. I, of course, keep my reflections to those a human would relate. It’s not tomorrow yet.

Finally, Diane falls asleep, her breath shallow and warm on my neck. I don’t move. We’re a comfort to each other and I will stay where I am as long as possible.

Dawn approaches and I must leave. She wakes as I pull myself from her grasp.

Diane’s face gains an edge of sorrow. “I wish you could stay.”

I lean over and kiss her, lovingly. “After tomorrow, things will change. Then we’ll see.”

She smiles at that, although her eyes contain a small amount of fear. She’s wise enough to know change is often a mixed blessing. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be here. I always will be.”

That may soon be more true than you know,
churns through my mind.

“
Bon nuit, cher
,” I say instead, “
Je t’aime.
”

She burrows into her pillow and sleeps once more.

I tiptoe out, close the door to her room and make sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ tag is in place.

As I walk to my haven, happiness and unease swirl through in my mind. After tomorrow night everything will be different. There are so many things that can happen. I’m hopeful, but even one such as I can’t know the future.

Loss

8:30 and I knock on Diane’s door. It’s time. I’m ready. She’s ready. I’ll keep nothing from her.

But there’s no answer. I listen to find only silence. There’s no sound of a shower. I wait, but no flushing of the commode occurs.
Perhaps she’s still asleep.

So I knock a little harder. This accomplishes as much as the first knock. If Diane is in her room I can’t find a sign of it. Concern and some small fear tighten my gut.

Reaching into my pants, I pull out the key I have to her room. It’s apparent from the second I enter that something is wrong. The bed is unmade while the sheets and bedspread half lie on the floor, telling me the person sleeping in it was dragged from their slumber.

A moment’s panic clutches me, followed by a sudden emergence of the monster.
Who dares?
is the thought that goes through my mind, as well as images of the painful things I will do to the people responsible for this.

I push both those reactions down. Panic won’t help and the monster would only make things worse. Instead I head to the front desk.

“
Pardon
,” I ask the woman there. “
Mademoiselle
Patterson? Has she gone out?”

“Not that I’m aware of,
Monsieur
.” She turns to look at the man behind the desk with her. It’s the porter. “Pavel,” the clerk asks, “do you know where
Mademoiselle
Patterson is?”