“Ya got ten bucks Mister?” she asked as she darted in front of me, one of a small group of black clad, pierced and tattooed punkers who’d mysteriously appeared in the neighborhood just days earlier.
“Ten bucks? What happened to the fifty cents for squeegeeing my windshield?” I asked with a grin.
“Fifty-cents! A rich, hip Miami guy like you,” she teased, jiving me as she danced backward as I continued walking.
“Where’d you all come from anyway?” I asked. “This is Miami, not Chicago or New York.” And they did look strange in our bright, art deco city with its white sand and blazing blue skies, always moving forward relentlessly to the nonstop, sexual Latin rhythms.
Their clunky black boots, the strange hairdos, the piercings, their dark layered rags, their chains and pins, it all seemed an affront to who we were. They were throwbacks to the past; we Miamians were rushing to the future.
“Ten bucks and I’ll tell ya,” she promised.
“I’m going to lunch, no time,” I said, ready to brush her off.
“So…I’m hungry…buy me lunch.”
“They wouldn’t let you in,” I said, but now was interested by her insistence, my photographer’s eye all of a sudden aware of her good looks under her punk costume.
“So buy me a sandwich at the bodega over there; you don’t have to impress me with something fancy,” she cajoled.
“They kicked us off the beach,” she said between big bites of her Cuban sandwich.
“The Miami Beach pigs; just drove us over the causeway and dumped us, told us they’d throw us in jail next time.”
“It is tourist season.”
“So you got us.”
“Great,” I muttered, thinking of all the merchants and condo owners in the new and suddenly ‘in’ Miami Arts District who would be pissed off.
“You’re the picture guy huh?” Seeing my nod, she went on, “I see all those leggy models going in and out. They’re not afraid of throwing us a few bucks…not like some…what’s your name anyway?”
“Do ya get to fuck em?”
“Go back to Kansas or wherever you came from sweetie,” I said, dismissing her as I stood to go.
“Hey, hey I’m sorry,” she shouted to my retreating back, “and it’s Chicago.”
“I knew you had to be a Midwesterner,” I said shaking my head as I looked back. “North side or south?”
“Oh Christ, a Goth, punk, druggie loser.”
“You’re not a Cubs fan are you?” she laughed. “And you’re calling me a loser?”
I walked away but knew she and I weren’t finished. “My name’s Jacqueline Anne Bowden,” she yelled at my retreating back.
I was almost sad when I didn’t see them hanging around the building the next day.
Friday, Jill, my receptionist/secretary/assistant, came into the production room late in the afternoon.
“Your models here boss.”
“What? I not expecting anybody…shit, I’m going upstairs in ten minutes. How come you’re still here?”
“I was just leaving when she came in.”
“Oh fuck, probably another of those crashers…throw her ass out.”
“Tough day Rod?” Jill asked, as her soft hand circled my neck. “I thought it went well this week.”
“It did. And you were great hon…it’s just…you are still happily married?” I asked leering, “maybe you and I should…”
“So its women problems again,” she laughed. “You’re getting too old for one night stands big boy.”
“Ha, I’ll be out dancing tonight while you’re changing diapers”
“ANYBODY HERE?” We heard yelled.
“Oh god, I forgot the little punk girl.” Jill said.
“Whatever. You know those weird kids that have been hanging around lately?”
“Your model’s dressed like them. Who knows, she might be one of them.”
“Oh hi Rod, there you are.”
“Miss Bowden, surprise, surprise,” I said sarcastically even as I felt a jolt of happiness course through me. “I’ll take care of this Jill, you go on home.”
“Sure?” she asked, a questioning look on her face.
“Go on,” I ordered as I gave her a quick swat on her rear.
“Night boss,” she said with a smirk, no doubt imagining all sorts of things.
“Do you spank all your staff Mr. Scouries,” she asked saucily as Jill disappeared.
“Only when they’re bad young lady. Have you been bad today Jacqui?”
“That’s my middle name,” she answered challengingly.
“I was hoping all your gang had decided to leave us for colder climes. Punked off, so to speak”
“No you didn’t,” she said confidently.
“So where are the rest of them today?”
“They decided to try Daytona. There’s a music festival up there this weekend. They left yesterday.”
“You’re all alone? And where’d you stay last night?” I asked.
“Around, just around…”
She finally admitted after gentle prodding that she’d slept in a doorway in the alleyway behind the building.
“Are you crazy?” I asked angrily, “You could’ve got killed or raped out there.”
“I’ve done it before,” she said shrugging. “Anyway, I decided to give you another chance. I’ll buy the pizza if you let me watch the Sox on WGN with you tonight.”
Seeing my hesitation she added, “Its interleague, Cubs-Sox, if you’re afraid to watch with a Sox fan”
“Can you afford a pizza?”
“So c’mon, what’s your story?” I asked as we sat munching pizza and drinking cokes in front of the TV.
“It must be nice, living right over where you work,” she answered, stalling.
I had bought the whole building twelve years ago, an old four story cement structure that occupied half the block. As the district had gentrified over the years I’d been able to rent out the ground floor and half the second for increasingly attractive rents and now the building housed an upscale restaurant, two bars, an art gallery and a couple of boutiques. My photography studio occupied part of the second floor and all the third while the top floor was my living quarters.
“Yes, it is. Now talk.”
“I’m eighteen,” Jacqui started, “from Chicago, like I told you.”
“Where exactly?” I asked, not believing for a second she was eighteen. And I also knew from the way she talked and acted, her inability to mask her upbringing, that this girl was no slum child.
“Around. I’ve been on the streets for two years. Chicago, then New York, Boston for a while…”
“What about school?”
“I dropped out. Every one was fucking around with me, hassling me…I didn’t need that shit,” she answered aggressively.
“You don’t have to swear to impress me Miss Bowden.”
“OK, okay Mr. Photographer sir.”
“I better go,” she finally said with a yawn at eleven-thirty, down ten bucks to me after the Cubs came back in the twelfth to win a squeaker.
“Running out when your team loses. Typical White Sox behavior,” I smirked.
“Bullshit….Double or nothing on tomorrow’s game.”
“You’re on. C’mon, shake,” I challenged. As we shook I asked, “So where are you planning on staying tonight.”
“I’m okay. No problem,” she answered gruffly.
“I do have a little room on the third floor, part of the studio; it’s used by the models, others, as a place to take a break between shots…its got a pull out sofa, a fridge, microwave, a small rest room…if you’d like to”
“You don’t have to.”
“You’ll be doing me a favor”
“Do you want it or not?”
“You’re sure this isn’t just some old guy’s strategy to take advantage of an innocent young girl?” she challenged with a grin.
“I’m pretty sure young lady.”
I had her settled in minutes later…
“God, what time is it? How’d you get in here anyway,” I grumbled. “No, don’t open the curtains,” I tried to order just as she pulled the cord and flooded my bedroom with light. “Ahhhh,” I groaned, blinded and now completely awake.
“Its ten-thirty sir, I’ve been up for hours,” she replied brightly.
“You’re not one of those happy, morning people are you?”
“Here’s your coffee…freshly ground and prepared by yours truly.”
“Thank you. Now scat, I’ve got to shower and shave.”
“You don’t want me to prepare your bath?”
“GO!” I ordered pointing.
“Yes master,” she replied and exited smiling.
“Don’t you want to take some of me naked?”
“No.” I had spent the last half hour taking pictures of Jacqui after we’d finished a big country style breakfast. Had snapped a couple of rolls of film of her in her punk garb but had become increasingly frustrated at my inability to capture the gritty, teen punk look I was seeking. She was just too damn sweet and cute for what I wanted.
Christ, her hair was naturally red and she had freckles to go with the pierced tongue and nose.
“How come? I’m not pretty enough? Sexy enough?” she pouted.
“Oh,” she answered but I couldn’t help but see the flash of sadness that flicked across her eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
This little girl could break my heart I suddenly knew. “You’re pretty honey…really,” I said as I touched her shoulder lightly.
“I am? You’re not just being nice? Am I as nice as your thin models?”
“So? How come you won’t”
“I have a policy that I don’t photograph fifteen year olds in the nude. Certainly not unaccompanied ones anyway”
“I’M EIGHTEEN! I told you,” she said, her anger clear. “God, I’ll prove it,”
She went to grab her backpack but then stopped, saying, “Shit, I think my papers are in my other bag.”
Sure, I thought.
“Whatca doing this aft anyway?”
“I thought I’d go to South Beach, catch some rays, swim maybe.”
“Can I come?”
“I thought they kicked you off the beach, warned you never to return,” I teased.
“I’ll go incognito. Chic, leggy, young model who’s the plaything of hip, older man. Like soooo Miami!”
I had to laugh.
“How old are you anyway? Like fifty or something?”
“I’m thirty-eight young lady.”
“Sure you are,” she said laughing.
“Now you’ll get to see my breasts,” she said with a smirk as we grabbed two beach chairs and settled in among the Saturday afternoon crowds, topless girls everywhere.
“You don’t have pierced nipples do you?” I grinned after she’d pulled the top over her head and then slipped out of her bra. Thank god they weren’t.
“What? What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing! In fact they’re perfect,” I laughed. “But I don’t think I’ve seen whiter skin in ten years.”
“Duh, you know there’s something called skin cancer, melanoma…kills people,” she said. “I know you Miamians aren’t the most aware Americans, but gee, even you guys should have heard the odd rumor…”
“Your skin is wonderful my dear.”
“Put some sunscreen on my back,” she ordered as sat down on the edge of my chair and offered me her naked back.
I took my time, luxuriating in the feel of her milky skin, her firm but baby soft flesh. I used both hands to spread the white liquid, first over her upper arms and shoulders, and then slowly down her back.
“Don’t miss anywhere,” she instructed.
“Yes ma’am…now your front. No, no, stay where you are, you don’t have to turn,” I instructed.
She arched her back as my gooey, sauce covered hands closed in around her waist and then leisurely moved across her stomach and ribs. I could feel her twitch when my thumbs and fingers moved under her breasts and then gradually slid upwards.
“Rrrrrod,” she gasped when my thumbs tweaked her two straining nipples at the same time, and I felt her hard, erect, little pink nubs. For just a little longer than was absolutely necessary I cupped and caressed her full breasts. Jacqui was panting lightly, her cheeks aglow with a bright blush, when I finally dropped my hands.
“You have very nice breasts young lady, very, very nice.” And she did! High, firm, round breasts capped by puffy areolas and lovely nips. Breasts just large enough to jiggle delightfully as she scampered in the surf, drops of water sparkling in the sun as it splashed off her glistening skin.
“I do, don’t I?” she said proudly, her hands momentarily cupping and lifting them.
“Should I do your legs too?” I asked sweetly.
“No, no sir, that’s okay, I’ll do them.”
“Do you want to do something tonight, go out somewhere, after we watch the ball game, I mean” she asked shyly as we lay under the hot, late afternoon sun.
“Sorry, I’ve got a date tonight.”
“You do? With who? Not one of those thin models I hope?”
“Well Miss Bowden, although it’s not really any of your business…I do happen to be going out with a lovely lady, and yes, she is a model…and we’ll probably spend most of the night clubbing, dancing away as…”
“How old is she?” Is she a blond? Are her breasts as nice”
“Yes Monica is a blond and I believe she’s twenty-one,” I interrupted.
We didn’t get back from the beach until after seven, having grabbed a meal at a small Thai place on Lincoln Road before heading home.
“I had fun today, thanks,” Jacqui said as we sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch watching the ballgame.
“Me too sweetie, me too,” I answered as I gave her a quick hug and then tousled her hair a bit.
“What times your date anyway?”
“Soon, I better get ready,” I answered as I rose, but looking down knew I’d much rather stay with this wayward waif than go anywhere with my sexy date.
“I’ll wait up,” she advised me when I was finally ready and heading for the door.
“What?” I asked laughing.
“Well, isn’t it normal for someone to wait up for their roommate,” she asked coyly.
“You’re not my roommate!”
I had been looking forward to Monica for weeks and knew she was as keen as I to make love. To the surprise of both of us, perhaps astonishment, I dropped her off at two and refused her offer to come in. This was a girl so hot I don’t think any man had refused any offer of hers since she was sixteen.
And here I was whistling to myself happily as I drove home alone!
“You’re back early,” greeted me from my living room couch when I walked in, Jacqui’s head popping up with a wide smile.
“And what are you doing up at this hour?”
“Oh Dadddddy, some of us little girls get so fraid when we’re left alone,” she whined in a little girls voice.
“Goodnight Jacqui,” I warned.
“Night Roddy,” she said after dancing over to me and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeeecch, you smell like a perfume factory, no wonder you didn’t sleep with her.”
“I’m going, I going,” she promised as she backed towards the door. “I have a favor to ask you tomorrow though, just warning you.”
“Not before noon!” I yelled at her retreating back. And it wasn’t Monica I dreamed of that night. It was the thoughts of a fresh faced, milky skinned teenager from Chicago with the most extraordinary breasts and a pierced tongue whose image, when it appeared in my dreams at around five in the morning, produced the first wet dream I’d had in over a year.
“It’s twelve-thirty Mr. Scouries sir,” were the first words I heard the next day as the sun streamed through my now uncovered windows. “Here’s your paper and coffee and orange juice.”
“Jacqui, I prefer waking up in the dark…I prefer to be alone…to slowly face the world,” I growled.
“Somebody’s in a bad mood. Just cause you’re little blond wouldn’t sleep with you. You’re lucky I’m here, you could have slept through the whole day,” she pouted.
“What are you wearing anyway?” I finally asked after I’d sat up and seen her. “Where are your normal clothes? The boots? The black? The chains?” I asked as I watched the vision in front of me.
Clearly embarrassed and blushing, Jacqui, clad in a bright yellow summer dress, and not much else if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, answered with a shrug, “I found it downstairs, on one of the clothes racks in the studio.”
“Your regular clothes are getting their monthly wash then?”
“Ha, ha sir. And at least I don’t lie around naked, displaying myself in front of eighteen year old virgins.”
“Who me? Are you a virgin Miss Bowden?”
“Well…almost,” she giggled. “And when I came in here earlier you were hanging out all over the place.”
“It’s my private bedroom. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Here, take your orange juice,” she ordered.
“Yes ma’am. Now scat while I get dressed.”
“You don’t have to be shy Rod, I’ve already seen everything,” she teased as she moved towards the open door. “And for an old man…not too bad…in fact…”
“I’d like a job….with you,” she added when I didn’t immediately answer.
“How come? Isn’t squeegeeing your way around America as a punk goddess enough for you?”
“Don’t you make fun of me!” she ordered with fire blazing in her green eyes.
“Sorry…and just what do you think you might be able to do here?”
“I’m smart. What do you need? I’ll do anything.”
“Well…if I actually had an opening, and I’m not saying I do…first you’d have to fill out an application…have your references checked…Jill would have to interview and okay you…”
“Where’s the application?”
I laughed when I saw she was struggling with the first line on the two page form.
“What?” she hissed, clearly flustered.
“Most people can at least fill in their names without much problem Miss Bowden.”
“Brown, my names Brown, Jacqui Brown,” she spat out as she moved the pen over the paper.
“Address? SSN? Education?” I asked as I saw her continue to labor over the form.
“This is private isn’t it? You won’t show it to…”
“My PI will see it.”
“I have to do a background check Jacqui; its part of my Insurance contract…every employee has to be vetted.”
“I don’t want… I can’t have my parents knowing where I am.”
“Are you really eighteen?”
“Yes, I promise…here I’ll show you,” she said as her hand went to the handbag next to her. “See. See, my drivers licence, my birth certificate…it’s all here,” she said while shoving papers into my hands. And the papers did seem to show that my little friend had just turned eighteen.
“You’re not wanted for any crime?”
“No, I promise you.”
“Then I don’t see any need to involve your parents. I still have to check everything though, don’t put any lies down or you’re out of here baby,” I threatened.
“So when can I start?” she asked after completing the form and sliding it over to me.
“Tomorrow report to Jill at eight thirty. She’s your boss.”
“What’s my salary?”
“If Jill can find something for you to do, and if you’re able to do it, and if your background check comes back okay, then we’ll discuss pay.”
“That sounds like slave labor,” she said with a grin.
“There is one condition though.”
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“You’ve just finished grade ten?” I said reading the form. “You’re going to have to do something about getting your high school papers.”
“I don’t need…” she started to protest.
“I have a friend, a Mrs. Nesbitt, she runs a private school for older people wanting to go back and get their high school leaving, for unwed mothers, for others with problems…she’s good…I want you to go talk to her…”
“I won’t go.”
“No school, no job,” I said with a determination that convinced her I was serious.
“Maybe,” she finally conceded, “that is if I like the job…and the pay.”
“You always were a soft touch,” Jill accused me Monday morning after I had let her know about our new employee. “God, I’ll bet she fluttered her eyes at you, then let one tear slide down her cheek…”
“God, I hope you didn’t sleep with her, she’s like fourteen or something.”
“She’s eighteen and no, I didn’t sleep with her.”
“She’ll break your heart,” my friend warned before leaving my office.
“She was reported missing two plus years ago,” Jack Galvan, my regular PI, ex-cop and old friend told me over the phone Wednesday afternoon.
“Little Miss rich girl, was not quite sixteen when she ran, old man’s a big shot lawyer, worth millions. Apparently he and the wife reported it to the cops a couple of weeks after she’d left.”
“She’s a brain, Already had skipped a year. Number one in her class at one of Chi towns best private schools. Good athlete. Popular. Just got up and left one day.”
“Drugs?” I asked.
“Not according to any of her friends. Nor boys. She went out a bit, at that age you know, but nothing serious.”
“What’d the cops think?”
“They did look at it a bit Rod, you know how it works…rich guy and all, they had to try. Couldn’t find anything. They were pretty sure though there was no foul play, finally decided she’d just done a runner. She just turned eighteen last month so they’ve now officially closed the file.”
“Strange,” I muttered.
“I did talk to the lead guy on it though,” Jack added, “me being ex-cop and all he told me things he might not have told someone else. It was just a feeling he had, no real evidence, just a cop’s instincts. Understand?”
“Yeah. What’d he think?”
“He just didn’t like the way the parents acted. Knew they weren’t giving him the full story…he thought maybe the old man had been doing something with the daughter, sex stuff…and maybe the mother knew about it.”
“Jesus!” I swore.
“She’s nice, she’s good,” Jill told me Thursday afternoon. “Ya did good with this one boss.”
“So do we hire her full time?”
“Yup. You should talk to her tomorrow, tell her what you’re going to pay her, give her a pep talk.”
“You’re her immediate boss, you should do it.”
“Oh no Rod, the big boss should do it. Besides she worships the ground you walk on.”
“You’re crazy,” I said blushing. “I thought you said she was the dangerous one, that she’d break my heart.”
“I was wrong. And you better be nice to that little girl Rod. And where’s she going to live? She can’t stay in that little room forever.”
“She’ll be like anyone else. She’s eighteen, she’s got a job, she’ll have to go out and find a place.”
“But rents are so expensive, and she doesn’t have any friends here…can’t you put her up for a while?”
“Are you crazy? You put her up if you’re so concerned.”
“Huhhh,” she said as she flounced off.
“Jill tells me I was a genius for hiring you,” I told Jacqui the next night as we sat in my office after work.
“And Mrs. Nesbitt said she could help you get your GED in a year if you’re willing to work hard. In fact, said you’re quite a brain. Your test results were off the scale.”
“I told you,” Jacqui preened.
“And my detective reported that you don’t seem to be wanted by any police force in the country.”
“What else did he say? About…my parents…are people looking for me?”
“He says you were reported as a missing person over two years ago. That your parents posted a reward.”
“They did? You won’t tell?”
“Well, since you are apparently really eighteen, the Chicago Police Department now regards you as an adult and has no further interest in you.”
“So, what do you think? Do you want to stay? We’d all be happy if you decide to join us permanently.”
“How much anyway?”
We argued playfully over money and hours and benefits for a while but our hearts really weren’t in it. She would’ve taken nothing and I would have paid her three times market value.
“What about my room? I can’t stay there forever.”
“Well, I expect with the wonderful salary I’m paying you you’ll be able to get a nice place. If you need a reference or help with the upfront money, no problem, we’ll help.”
“I have no furniture. Jill says you have lots of room upstairs. She says you have three or four bedrooms that haven’t been used in five years.”
“I’d pay rent.”
“I don’t think I need the money.”
“C’mon Rod, at least let’s discuss it over dinner. It’s on me. I can spend some of my hard earned cash.”
“No, lets discuss your schooling…and I’ll pay.”
“Okay,” she sang, a smile in her voice.
“I don’t want to sleep with you, promise,” she declaimed as we ate in a small Cuban restaurant on Calle Ocho (Eighth Street), the heart of Spanish Miami. “We’ll be roommates, that’s all.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Huh, that’s what all you old guys say,” she answered with a sweet little grin on her face. “At first, anyway.”
“You look very pretty tonight,” I countered, “Is this dress one of my models outfits?”
“Yes. You don’t mind do you? Jill said”
“It’s fine. You look beautiful in it.”
“I do?” she asked as she sat up straighter in her seat and arched her back so that her chest seemed to leap towards me. “Better than your sexy models?”
“Within a week or two you’ll have five or six handsome Latinos chasing you everywhere,” I parried.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
“How come? You’re young and beautiful. Go and have some fun while you can.”
“I’ll be too busy. Going to school…working for a demanding boss… no place to live…I don’t like sex…”
Sunday I moved her in upstairs. “It’s just for a couple of months, until you get organized,” I warned.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way,” she countered. “You can bring your skinny, blond girlfriends home and I won’t say a word.”
It was strange; all of a sudden I didn’t particularly want to go out partying. Didn’t want to attend the openings, the ‘in’ events, the dinners, the fashion shows, all the things that I, Miami’s hottest photographer, had always done. Just wanted to stay home with my roommate.
Jacqui didn’t seem interested in going out either, my gentle prodding that maybe she should go out and have some fun was simply met by shrugs.
We ended up spending most of our nights together, usually on the couch, Jacqui studying while I either read or worked on the shots I’d done that day. There was an easy intimacy between us as we worked. I was happy.
I knew I was falling in love. Fuck, I was thirty-eight, more than twice her age.
Couldn’t help but wonder about her comment that she didn’t like sex. Remembered what the Chicago cops had thought.
I woke up one Saturday morning and she was curled against me.
“What?” Jacqui mumbled.
“You seem somehow to have ended in my bed Miss Brown.”
“I was scared. The thunder,” she said with a nervous smile, nestling even tighter into me. “The lightning. I hate being alone…”
“So are you…it feels good…you’re not mad are you?” she asked shyly.
“This isn’t going to become a habit I hope?”
“You were hard…before…” she countered, ignoring my question.
“What?” I said even as I could feel myself harden against her stomach.
“Like that,” she giggled, and then slipped her small, soft hand between us. “I woke up…about an hour ago…you were poking me”
“I’m sorry Miss Brown, I didn’t know you were going to be joining me…oh sweetie, no, no honey,” I moaned as her hand started to pump my cock. “Stop!” I cried as I tried to pull away.
“Let me…please let me make you happy Rod.”
“We can’t,” I tried to insist but finally lay back, and just watched as her two small hands worked my cock and balls until I exploded, watched as my sperm spurted upward in long arcs that landed on my stomach, my legs, Jacqui’s chest…
“You’re so big…I’ve never seen one so large,” she whispered as one hand continued to pump me, while the other rubbed my white sauce over and into her firm breasts.
I cupped the back of her head in my hand and slowly drew her towards my lips.
“I don’t,” she started but was stopped by my hungry lips.
“No…No Daddy…don’t…pleasssse,” she suddenly cried when I tried to penetrate her mouth with my tongue, her body suddenly tense under my roving hands.
“NO, NOOOOOOO pleasssse. Don’t!”
“Its okay, its okay sweetie…Jesus, you’re okay, I won’t do anything to hurt you…never,” I promised as I moved away from her on the bed.
She lay crying next to me for minutes,
“I’m scared…I can’t…I’m sorry,” she finally sobbed.
“It’s okay,” I continued, trying to calm her as I lightly caressed her hair.
Minutes passed as she trembled in my arms. “So, are you going to cook my breakfast or am I going to have to do it myself?” I finally asked.
“You’re not mad?”
“Yes, I’m starving.”
“I mean, about”
“Go on, I’m going to shave and shower, I want my coffee waiting the second”
“Yes sir,” she said as she jumped from the bed, a smile growing on her face even as she rubbed the tears from her eyes.
What the fuck, I asked myself as I stood under the shower.
“Are you too busy or can we talk?” she asked as she nestled herself against me on the sofa, pushing aside the Miami Herald section I was reading.
“It’s the Sports Section, can’t it wait,” I complained teasingly as I put my arm around her.
“I’m not as experienced as you might have thought…about sex and all that I mean,” she started tentatively.
“You mean you weren’t having wild Goth sex at all those all-night raves you were always going to, using that pierced tongue in weird punk sexual rituals? Not dancing topless on Ecstasy highs?”
“Stop teasing…you’re bad…I really haven’t had much sex since I left home…not vaginal intercourse anyway…well, maybe once or twice…but that was…well two boys forced me once in Boston…and once I…”
“I’m sorry honey.”
“That wasn’t that bad…I was half drunk…it hurt but…Anyway, I was always scared…almost every night I was on the road.”
“We don’t have to make love Jacqui…you don’t owe me anything honey”
“I want to…its just I can’t…I’m so scared…so unhappy,” she sobbed as she trembled in my arms.
“He started when I was thirteen…my birthday present, he said,” she finally whispered, “I was so scared…mommy didn’t stop him….I’m dirty, so dirty, he said I was just a little slut.”
“Oh honey, you did nothing wrong Jacqui, you’re innocent…he was wrong, so wrong to do”
“But I liked it Rod, I liked it when he came into my bed…I was excited…I tried to please him…he bought me presents,” she wailed.
“He’ll never hurt you again,” I promised.
I tried to get her to see someone, a therapist, psychiatrist, anyone who might help…
“I’ll talk to you, only you. You’ll help me,” she’d reply furiously.
She took to coming into my bed every night after I’d fallen asleep, then after a couple of days simply joined me when I went to bed. She finally admitted one morning as we lay face to face, “He’d never stay all night. He never slept with me…he always went back to mommie…I like it like this…your warmth…”
We never kissed! Never made proper love!
I’d wake to her hands fondling me…or her tongue lapping eagerly…or her mouth devouring me…and then hungrily swallowing my sperm when I finally exploded.
“You like that, don’t you?” she always ask as she’d nestle against me afterwards. “I want to make you happy.”
I could touch her breasts, she’d even become a moaning, thrashing wildcat as I sucked her fat, puffy nipples into my mouth. No deep kisses. No penetration. Lots of hugs.
“I just can’t Rod,” she cried one morning.
“That’s okay my love.”
“You don’t mind.”
“No, no, it’s alright.”
“I’ve got my other girlfriends for that.”
“What girlfriends. No you don’t. You haven’t slept with anyone since…have you?”
“Jill said you’re lying!” she accused as we sat together on the couch that night. “She knows you and she said”
“I shouldn’t have said anything…I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean you and I aren’t”
“Aren’t what? I love you!….Who is she?”
“I’ve never loved anyone as much as you.”
“Is she a model?”
That night in bed, “What if I can’t? Ever?”
“We’ll just have to live one of those platonic relationships for the next thirty years.”
“What? And you out sleeping with every model that goes by. No thanks.”
I ate her for the first time that night. She was trembling as I licked my way from her breasts slowly across her stomach, her fingers locked in my hair when my tongue found her slit. She was moaning and thrashing as my lips nibbled her clit.
“He never did that. No one ever has…touched me like that…you’re”
“Was it okay?”
“You taste yummy yourself,” I said as I lightly caressed her hair covered mound.
“Do you think I should shave…down there,” she asked as her hands moved across her stomach to her red pubic hair.
“I could pull them out one by one,” I laughed as I quickly jerked one curling red hair from her groin.
“You look fine just as you are honey.”
“But it might be nice…I mean if you ever decided you’d like to do what you did before…you know, lick me…anyway, you wouldn’t get any hair caught in your teeth,” she said grinning. “Will you?”
“Shave me,” she laughed as she jumped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing minutes later with my razor, shaving cream, hot water, cloth, towel…
“These little, curly hairs are so beautiful,” I complained as I applied a hot, wet cloth to her mound. “Are you sure?”
“I can always grow them back.”
I took my time, shaving slowly, baring my loves sex with careful strokes. “You look like a ten year old,” I teased when I’d finished.
“I don’t,” she insisted as she rushed to the large wall mirror. “Gosh, I’m bald! You can see everything,” she giggled as she danced naked in front of the mirror, her fingers holding her pussy apart. “Do you like?” she asked as she pranced back towards me on the bed.
“Come here,” I ordered, “maybe I just better taste you again.”
The days passed, then weeks; we spent our days working together, the laughing, funny, freckled redhead always at my elbow. At least half my customers wanted to hire her as a model after just minutes in her presence.
“Should I?” she asked one day after another director wanted her to work for him.
“It pays well.”
“I prefer staying with you,” she said shaking her head. “Besides,” my redhead added, “I’m not blond and thin like them…and my breasts are nicer, bigger.”
“You’re far too smart to be a model anyway,” I laughed.
“That’s for sure!”
We spent our nights entwined; Jacqui still didn’t want vaginal penetration, still almost panicked the odd time our mouths hungrily met. But in every other way we enjoyed the others body.
Oral sex became our main pleasure. A girl unwilling to have my tongue in her mouth, she delighted in taking my hard, thick cock between her lips, licking and sucking me to orgasm after orgasm, milking and swallowing spurt after spurt of my saucy cum.
As she sucked I’d have her tight little butt in my hands, holding her bald pussy hard against my tongue.
Only rarely during hose weeks did Jacqui talk about her past, just once in a while would she let something out:
“He’d beat me sometimes,” she’d whisper, or
“He’d tie me up…to the four corners of the…”
“Mommy did whatever he said…”
She’d never really wanted to discuss these incidents…would just curl against me as I held her tightly.
I was frustrated. In love. Worried about this innocent young girl. Wondered if being with me was good for her. Didn’t care, knew I had to have her. Knew it was just a matter of time.
“Will you marry me?” I asked her in early December, on my knees in front of her.
“What? Are you crazy? Get up,” she ordered.
I said nothing. Just offered the ring.
“Why would you want to?”
“Mrs. Jacqueline Ann Scouries, that doesn’t sound so bad,” I begged.
“It could never last,” she predicted.
“If we marry before New Years I’ll get a tax deduction,” I said smiling.
Two weeks later, on a clear, sunny late December day, in a small beachfront church, in front of a small group of my friends, and dressed simply in a long, white, silk gown that only highlighted her red hair and radiant face, Jacqui agreed to become my wife.
We made love for the first time at midnight on a moonlit beach on an almost deserted island in French Polynesia. Our honeymoon!
We hadn’t talked about it before it happened. She simply pulled my head upwards as I lay lapping between her legs, insistently pulled me up her body until our lips were just inches apart.
“How come you never want to kiss me anyway,” she demanded.
“I’m a little peculiar that way Mrs. Scouries,” I said with a growl. “Besides you got that weird pierced tongue…yuck…”
“Shutup!” she ordered as her mouth opened and our tongues met. We had already done so much together, knew every inch of the others body, had repeatedly brought the other to so many orgasms; this shouldn’t have been anything special. But it was!
“Hurry…please hurry,” she pled when our lips finally separated. “HURRY!” she ordered again as her hand found my throbbing snake.
“Are you sure?”
“Pleasssssse,” she whimpered just before I thrust into her, pounding deep into her sticky, slippery, grasping cunt.
“Ahhhhhhh,” she screamed as I filled her.
“Don’t stop… More… Harder,” she groaned, her hands circling my neck as her legs locked around my back.
I was like a teenage virgin, my cock jerking my cum prematurely in my excitement at having finally penetrated my love.
“I’ll do better next time,” I laughed, my prick still hard inside her.
“I love you,” she whispered as I started to move my hips, “and you’d better.”
I rode her hard, thrusting again and again in long, slow strokes, stretching her slippery cunt to its utmost each time I pushed in. She came twice before I finally spurted my thick sauce in her.
“You’re so big,” she murmured as I slowly pulled my softening python from her and then she tenderly held me in her hand as she dipped her head.
“He’s hard again,” she exclaimed in fake surprise after she’d spent five minutes licking and sucking my thickening lance.
“Miracles do happen,” I joked.
After she straddled me and then slowly positioned her oozing slit over my straining cockhead, she begged, “Fuck me…fill me…hard.
“Ride me baby, ride your big Rod,” I ordered as she slipped her distended, dripping pussy lips down my shaft.
Then we did it doggie style! Then we…
“I thought you didn’t like sex?” I finally asked.
“You’re not tired already?”
Laughing I lifted her and then ran down the beach and deposited her unceremoniously in he breaking surf.
“That wasn’t fair,” she accused sputtering, beads of water flying from her breasts as we hugged. while the white capped waves broke against us.
We made love on the sand as the surf broke over us.
“I’m going to bed,” I finally gasped.
“Already?” she complained as we walked arm in arm towards our beach house.
I woke the next morning to her mouth hungrily sucking me.
“God, what time is it,” I complained.
“You sleep too much,” she laughed as she slid up my body.
“Good morning my love.”
“I love you,” she whispered as my cock pushed up into her hot and eager cunt.
We lived together happily for the next two years. When you’re closing in on forty and you find love again, a love you’d feared was never going to come again, you have a much greater appreciation of what you have than when you were younger.
Sleeping every night with the same person, the person you love more than anyone, is perhaps the best thing that can happen to a man.
She was happy too. She finished her high school easily and even took some courses at the University the second year. Worked with me…we traveled some, Jamaica, London, Paris, New York…made love endlessly…
But we didn’t talk about the future much. Or she didn’t. I wanted her to have my child…she was more interested in what she’d do with her life…talked about going to med school…
I sensed our days together were numbered…she knew they were…
And then in early 2006 it somehow changed. Slowly I sensed a new unease in my love, but she simply deflected my questions, denying any problem. She’d yell in her sleep and then wake sobbing and drenched in sweat.
Finally, in late February, I woke to Jacqui crying and trembling against me.
“What honey? What is it? You have to tell me.”
“Oh Rod…its Cathy.”
“Cathy who hon? I don’t know?”
“Sister? You have a sister?”
“She’ll be thirteen in May Rod. April 17th. I have to go,” she sobbed, “I can’t let Daddy do the same thing…he said once…that when she was thirteen she’d replace me…that she’d be his new…”
“We’ll go sweetie,” I answered, knowing immediately what the nightmares she’d been having had been about.
“No…you can’t…it’s my job…”
Had she already decided what she was going to do? We talked and argued for weeks but there was a new steeliness in the girl I loved. Somehow, telling me had clarified her thinking. She insisted that she was going to solve the problem herself, that she had to face it alone.
“You can’t come, I have to face him alone,” she’d yell.
“I’m your husband!”
“I’m sorry but”
I understood that she was not only going to Chicago to face her past, she was also leaving me. For most of March we made love desperately, every coupling a wild, animalistic coupling that we both sensed might be our last. I didn’t want to leave the house, continually afraid she’d be gone when I got home.
“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Jacqui was sitting at the top of the stairway between the third and fourth floor, a back pack and a large suitcase resting next to her.
“I can’t say anything? Do anything?”
“No,” she said as a tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’ll come with you. In a second.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“Don’t know. Chicago first, then…”
“I’m taking Greyhound.”
“Shit, I’ll get you a plane ticket, I’ll drive you.”
“No, I can’t, it’s okay.”
My, “Take the car,” was met by a simple shake of her head no. “Money?”
“I’m okay. Gosh, I haven’t spent hardly anything of what I’ve earned. I got thousands in the bank.”
“I’ll put money in your account every month.”
“You don’t need to.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Okay,” she finally agreed. “I love you, always will…”
“Me too Mrs. Scouries.”
“I can’t promise anything. We may never see each other”
“Sshhh,” I whispered as I hugged her desperately, my tears now falling like rain on Jacqui’s fiery curls.
“Rod?” she asked as we stood at the door of the bus.
“If you don’t hear something…from Chicago…if you don’t see something in the papers…in the next couple of weeks.”
“Promise me you’ll go to Chicago. That you’ll do something for my little sister.”
“But Jacqui,” I pled, “let me help you now, you don’t have to…”
Again she refused my help… The door of the bus closed on my happiness.
Finally, ten days later, I saw the headline in the Chicago Tribune online edition: “Prominent Chicago Lawyer/Executive Charles W. Brown Gunned Down in Home Invasion.”
April 15, Chicago Illinois: Charles W. Brown, well known lawyer and philanthropist, was murdered last night during a home invasion gone wrong. Uninjured were Mrs. Brown and her daughters Linda, 12, and Jacqui (Mrs. Roderick Scouries), 21, who was visiting from her home in Miami.
The perpetrators are described as young black males in their late teens to early twenties….
It went on and on…
I got a postcard from Barcelona two weeks later…”I’m okay…luv you” was all it said.
Now I simply work …and wonder…and wait…