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 Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 7:28 pm
Coooooool!
I have another segment here. but SOMEONE needs to say they're sorry :Stare:
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 9:16 pm
OK! OK!!!! I'm sorry! uhhm can we have more please? sweatdrop
I don't like having the feeling of zahmen and des eating me...
PS: I'm not tasty...
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 9:29 pm
Okay. cool.
Morez.
Wednesday Thursday Friday, she teaches him. Monday too. But then it has to pause.
The reason for this is that on that Tuesday, when David arrives, there is no one there. He waits for a few minutes. He searches. He goes up to her apartment and knocks.
No one answers, though he knows she is there. He hears the television inside. He knocks again, calls for her.
“Go away!” she yells.
“Janine? Are you okay?”
“I said get lost or I’ll call the cops!”
She wouldn’t. He knows that. “Janine!” He is worried for her.
He hears a stream of curses, then the door flings open; Janine, wrapped in a blanket, starts to yell at him.
“What the ******** do you want from me? Can’t you go one day without screwing someone? I can imagine, it must be SO NICE to get sex every ******** DAY, but excuse me if maybe I don’t FEEL like it! I’m a human being, not your slave, you son of a b***h! If you’re so desperate then you can just go ******** yourself, because I QUIT!”
She makes to slam the door; he shoves his arm into the crack, winces as the door hits it. “Janine, what’s wrong?” he asks her, alarmed now; had she gone insane? Had someone hurt her? He pushes the door aside and follows her in.
She stands by the couch, swivels around. “Why are you still ******** here?” she shouts, chunking a cushion at him. “Don’t you get it! I’m not screwing you, I’m not screwing any of you, GET--LOST--!”
“Janine, what’s wrong?” he asks her, his voice raised so she can hear.
She turns around, punishes the floor on her way to the kitchenette. He follows; she swivels around and screams, “Just leave me alone! Go find someone else to screw! What are you so desperate for? You don’t want to get blood on your precious d**k, do you? Don’t you care about that more than me? I’M just a ******** WHORE!”
He realizes what’s wrong now. He winces. Did women really get this moody?
“Are you sick?” he asks her, just to be sure.
She chunks a fork at him, misses; it wasn’t a very good throw anyway. “What the hell do you care?” she demands, her voice lowering a bit, but still loud. “Why should any of you care? Oh yeah sure, real easy to ******** someone and THEN care, yeah, that--”
She stops, doubles over, moans. Digs her nails into the countertop. “Ah-hooooooow,” she sobs. “Ow ow ow…Jesus, Mary and Joseph….”
David moves quickly. Takes her hand. Lets her squeeze it hard. “It’ll be okay,” he assures her. “C’mon. Come lay down.”
She takes his advice, tottering unsteadily to the sofa and collapsing on it. Curling up in a miserable ball.
“Um,” he murmurs, afraid to press her, “maybe you should get in bed….”
“This is my bed,” she gasps. “What…you think I’d….”
He takes the blanket from her, helps her lay down on the couch. She closes her eyes, looks tired; his temerity fades, and he remembers when every girlfriend he had ever had went through this, and what they wanted him to do.
He sits on the couch by her feet, pulls them onto his lap. Unbuttons her jeans and pulls them off for her. Then he covers her with the blanket and, softly, reaches over and strokes her hair.
She doesn’t really respond. He forgives her; she is sick.
“You should take a bath,” he advises her.
“Can’t,” she murmurs. “Water bill.”
“Okay.” He tucks a corner of the blanket under her. “Do you want anything? Chocolate?” He thinks that’s it. Chocolate or ice cream.
“No food,” she moans.
“What about medicine?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Want me to get some?”
“No,” she orders. “No. Stay here.”
So he does. He sits silently next to her, holding her hand or stroking her hair, as in the bedroom, her clock ticks. She alternates between feeling queasy and feeling like she’s going to die. When he asks what he can do to help, she requests a bullet to the head. He stops asking; he figures she will let him know.
In the late morning, she gets a bit better and sits up. She doesn’t want anything to eat. He doesn’t know if she feels any better; he has a theory that it’s different with every girl.
She prefers to curl up against the couch arm rather than lay down. He sits unassumingly beside her. She gets hot, then cold again. She doesn’t say anything to him.
Finally, she asks, “Why are you still here?”
He shrugs. “I was worried about you.”
“It’s not anything new.”
“Still. Some girls I was with once….” He shrugs again. “They liked to have someone around.”
“To yell at and abuse?” She smirks weakly. Her voice is hoarse.
“Something like that. They were all different. One of them kept asking for neck rubs.” He throws her a glance. “Would you like one?”
She smiles. “Nah. I’d like to not have a female reproductive system though,” she muses.
He figures she wouldn’t like it. He feels bad for her. “Are you feeling better?”
“Almost. But I won’t get paid for five days,” she sighs. “At least….”
“I’m sorry,” he says. She doesn’t respond. He isn’t sorry, really. He knows it will stop hurting after a day or so, and then she gets a few days off. She has earned that much. He wishes though, with all his heart, that she didn’t have to do all this.
He stays all morning and a lot of the afternoon. Ignores hunger. He sits patiently and waits for her to tell him what to do for her. But she is independent; she suffers alone.
Sometime, somehow, she ends up leaning on his shoulder instead of on the couch. He automatically wraps an arm around her waist before he realizes what is going on; it feels natural and comforting, and his heart starts to work faster and harder. He places his other arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t seem to mind.
They stay like that for a long time. Her eyes are closed most of the time; he thinks she is asleep. But just when he is sure, she moves, she says something, or she opens her eyes and stares at nothing in particular. She is in a strange mood.
“Really it isn’t that bad,” she says randomly to him. “Once you give it a few hours.”
He nods, like he understands. And then, five minutes later:
“I hate being female.”
He nods again. Just keep agreeing, he says to himself.
He secretly enjoys her closeness all that time; it is different when they don’t have clothes on, and he isn’t paying her. And it’s different when she chooses, herself, to be this close. He doesn’t know if he should say anything, though; it will cause attention to this and perhaps she will think he is taking it too seriously and push him away. But then perhaps she wants him to take it seriously. He can never figure girls out.
“You still never told me why you stayed,” she finally says.
He shrugs. “I thought you might want someone around.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
An insane question rises to his throat. He swallows it. “Still.”
She doesn’t get the answer she was looking for. He can tell. But he doesn’t know what she wants him to say.
Janine rises unsteadily to her feet; apathetically disentangles herself from David’s arms. “I have to pick up Nina now. Go home.”
“Will you be okay?” he asks. She tugs on her jeans, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Do you want me to come?”
“No!” she says harshly. He backs off a bit.
“What are you doing after that?” he asks her after a moment.
“None of your business.”
“Janine, I….” He doesn’t know what to say.
She strides over to him, pulls his chin up until their eyes meet. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about her,” she tells him quietly; her resonant voice entrances him for a second, “I owe you everything. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll do it, free.” She lets go of him, straightens up, stares imperiously down at him with her entire stance one of defiant, independent royalty. “But don’t ever bother pretending like you care,” she hisses, with the tones of an avenging angel.
She points to the door. “Out.”
He stands numbly, staring at her, wishing she would meet his eyes again. There were so much in them left unsaid. “Janine, I…” he says helplessly.
“Get out,” she repeats firmly.
He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He thanks her, as usual, and leaves. He’ll be back tomorrow.
~~~
Janine greets him with a smile. “Morning,” she says--probably on her cheerful swing. “Come on up.”
He follows her. She lets him in, locks the door, winks as she pushes him onto the bed. She kneels on the floor.
“I forgot yesterday,” she says brightly, “guys don’t go much for vaginas anyway. And I’ve still got my mouth.” She pushes his knees apart, rests her cheek on the bend of his leg. Tugs playfully on the button of his pants with her teeth as she reaches for the zipper.
She has a siren song about her voice. David can’t resist her; he doesn’t have the strength yet. He lets her tug his pants off, watches in passive awe as she slides off her dress. She wraps her arms around his waist, her breasts pressing into his hips; she reclines against his thigh and smiles her hollow smile up at him.
“Getting excited?” she whispers to him. “I can fix that….”
She runs her fingers along the insides of his thighs. Kisses him.
He speaks up before he loses control.
“Janine.”
She looks up. “Yeah?”
“You know I didn’t come here for that.”
“Well, the rest of me is out of order.” She grins. Licks him, enjoys the feel of his shiver. “I know you like it….”
“Janine, really.” He almost can’t stand the feeling of her breath on his bare skin. “I wanted to talk to you….”
She snorts, very softly. “Bullshit.” But then she pauses, looks up at him. Frowns. “You’re resisting me,” she accuses.
He blinks.
“I can’t believe this. I offer you a free b*****b, whatever you want, no responsibility attached, and you say you want to TALK?”
He nods.
Janine rises to her feet. “C’mon,” she demands, “you want something. I know you’re probably too shy and all to speak up, but whatever it is, it sure can’t be any weirder than stuff I’ve seen before. Just spit it out!”
David shakes his head. “I just want to spend time with you,” he admits.
She stares at him; doesn’t believe him. He waits.
And then she pushes him back on the bed and pins him down; she finishes what she has started, hard, almost as if she is punishing him--and he, only a man, succumbs.
Janine feels a sort of empty pleasure as she watches his ecstasy. She gives him a break; takes a sip from her usual glass of water (present for many purposes) and makes a face.
As soon as he can think again, he thanks her. She raises her eyebrows but says nothing in return.
He reaches out, carefully touches her leg. “Janine….”
She gives him a coldly surprised look. “What? Want more already?”
“No,” he lies. He wants something more than sex.
“What do you want then?” she asks in her detached business voice.
He swallows. “Can I kiss you?”
She shrugs, lays down beside him. Wraps her arms around his neck.
But he doesn’t kiss her right away. He plays with the ends of her hair.
“Janine,” he whispers to her, pressing his cheek to her neck, “why are you acting this way?”
“What way?” she hisses back. “You said you wanted to kiss me, so kiss me!”
“I mean…you act like you don’t care….”
She shrugged. “I don’t. It’s your money, isn’t it?”
He frowned; hurt. “Do you really think of me like that?”
“Like what?” she says delicately, as if trying to avoid an emotional discussion altogether.
“Do you honestly think I’m the same as all the other guys?” he demands, his dander up now. It shouldn’t offend him, but it does. “Do you think I’m just like them? Aren’t I different to you at all?”
“You’re a lot weirder,” she says fairly. He feels like crying.
“It’s all just money to you, isn’t it?” he asks her.
She thinks; nods. “Yep,” she admits. “That’s why I have this job, really. What, you think I do this for fun?”
He pauses. The thought makes him sad. “No,” he finally says. “But I don’t understand…I just want to talk….”
She pulls away, props herself up. Her hair sways around her shoulders, a shining curtain curling gently around her face. “You think I don’t get that every day?” she demands. “It’s not some civil trade-off, you know. Either he ******** you straight or he does what you do, says he doesn’t WANT anything, he just wants to sit and admire me--gets what he wants eventually--but then he demands his money back. Do you have any idea what people will try for a free screw? I really don’t think you do…you have no idea how these guys can hurt you.”
She falls back; rolls over. Turns her back to him. “I don’t take chances,” she says, her voice quiet now. “It’s ******** me and pay up, or leave.”
He could fill in the gaps instantly; he knows enough to figure out why that hurts her so much. She has a weakness; men exploit it heartlessly to get what they want already without adding further injury to the insult. He knows her enough to guess how much it hurts her for a man to tell her that all he wants from her is to look at her--perhaps he offers to pleasure her instead of the other way around--but then, once his hour is up, he breaks her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Just go,” she snaps back.
“I’d never do that to you, Janine….”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He doesn’t know what to say. He scoots closer. Wraps an arm around her waist and holds her.
“I swear I don’t want to hurt you,” he tells her. “You’ve already got my money.”
“So?” she says testily, though she doesn’t try to push him off. “You could beat it back out of me. You could force me to give me your money’s worth….” She shuddered, half-suppressing a small sob. “I can’t do anything about it. You know about Nina…and you’re bigger than me….”
“I would never hurt you,” he insists. “Please, Janine….”
She rolls onto her stomach and hides her face in her arms. “Just tell me what you ******** want,” she snarls.
He blinks. His voice softens. “I don’t want anything from you….”
She snorts. “Yeah right.” Points over her shoulder, at the door. “Get out.”
He sits up, slides obediently out of the bed. Pulls on his clothes. He keeps his eyes down. “I understand, Janine,” he tells her softly. “I just wish there was some way to prove it to you….”
She ignores him. He buttons his shirt. Lays the money on the table. 200. It’s more than she usually gets a day.
“Can I come back?” he asks her.
She takes her time with her answer. Finally, quietly, she says, “You can do whatever you want to me…if you pay enough….”
He hates her answer; he wonders why she has no hope. He considers telling her the words he’s wanted to scream aloud since he first met her, but he does not.
“Goodbye, Janine,” he says instead. “Have a nice day….”
~~~
David reflects as he walks home about how much he, himself, has changed. Last week he would have been much too timid to say anything emotional to Janine. He would never have had the courage to refuse her advances. He could never have made himself empathize with her like this.
He wonders what has made him change, though it really is obvious. He accepts Janine as the stimuli; ponders.
He wonders why she has affected him this way. He wonders what powers she has that has made her ferocity and bravery rub off on him. He wonders how she managed to change him so much.
He does not, however, consider the possibility that it could be the other way around.
~~~
Janine is having mood swings. One moment she throws her diary across the room and screams at it; the next she picks it up and flips through it. Bits of poetic observance…bitter and graphic details about how she wishes she could castrate, torment, and murder all the men who hurt her…letters to a man long gone.
Dear ******** YOU.
One half of her likes it and wants to end the day with that thought. The other half feels that she needs to write something else.
She compromises.
Dear God
And even though she wrote it, even though she knows it’s perfect for today, she still can’t figure out what she means by it.
She starts to cry. It doesn’t stop.
~~~
David returns the next day, bringing $250 and a heavy heart. Janine’s mood has swung from bitter to apathetic; she sits in silence, and so does he, accepting that he doesn’t want anything from her with no expression at all. He tries to engage her in conversation, but her mind is miles away.
She ends that session in tears, for no reason he can discern; he tries to comfort her, but she hits him and shoves him until he is forced to leave.
The next day, she is angry. She demands to know what he wants, if not sex; he tries to sidetrack her with questions he wants to know the answers to, innocent favorite-color sort of questions, but she orders him, again, to let her do what he paid her for or leave.
He pays her. Then he leaves again. He wonders why she is so stubborn. He does not think of the possibility that perhaps it isn’t stubbornness; perhaps it is a façade. He has trouble thinking of deep and psychological matters--so, like many often do, he blames her moodiness on her period and goes on his way.
The next day, she is almost back to normal. She fakes a smile when she sees him, allows him to deny her b*****b offer, sits quietly in her miniskirt and band t-shirt and answers his curious, slightly nervous questions.
He asks her what she likes now, what she liked when she was little. After a little dodging on what exactly little meant (she decided it meant as early as she could remember, which was 8 or 9, and then separately as a teenager), she answers him straight--or as straight as she ever answers.
Her favorite color was once blue, bright happy blue. Then it was black. Now it is white. A virgin color, she jokes with a feeble smile. Just ready to be tainted. And it isn’t even a color at all. She finds it a bit sad.
Her favorite movies were once the Disney ones, Snow White and Little Mermaid and such. Then they were the sort of kid’s movie where there is little romance and a lot of action and comedy, like Monsters Inc. and Lilo and Stitch and Toy Story. Now, she doesn’t watch many movies; her favorites are old black-and-white romances.
Her favorite food used to be spaghetti and meatballs, because it was messy. Then it was bread, because it didn’t make her sick. Now, it is anything she’s never had before.
Her favorite music was once little girl music, the theme songs to stupid kid shows and dance party tapes. Then it was every decent eighties song she could get her hands on; she longed for the nostalgia. Now, it is modern alternative rock; she points to her band t-shirt and smiles. Cute, it says. It’s her favorite band.
And on and on it goes. David finds a distinct difference between child, teenager, and adult Janine, one that scares him; the transition from happy carelessness…to dark, frightening avoidance…to a peaceful deference of the world outside her. Something had obviously happened to her, and David had a certain idea of what it was, though it made him sick even to think about it.
She lets him hold her hand. It is limp, motionless, patient while he rubs it quietly with his thumb. She is not encouraging him to go further; so he doesn’t.
She says that after the weekend, she’ll be ready to work again. He asks her politely, as he is leaving, why she doesn’t just take birth control pills--even he knows, from one of his girlfriends, that the pills stop a woman’s period at the cost of messing with her hormones.
Janine scowls. “Because it’s monstrous,” she replies, and shoves him into the hall. But she pauses before she slams the door.
“And anyway, it gives me an excuse to take some time off. Believe me, lover boy…I need it.”
~~~
David thought about Janine all weekend. He began to worry that he was becoming obsessive; and he is fairly sure that obsession and affection are not the same thing at all. Yet he cares for her, he wants her to be happy--is that not love?
He returns on Monday. He wishes very much that he had brought flowers; he is nervous, and has no idea what to do with his hands. He approaches.
“Hey, lover boy,” she says, rising to her feet. She seems in a better mood today. She takes him casually by the hand, unaware of how the gesture makes his blood sing, and leads him upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, she pulls off her shirt; David lays the money, $300, on the table. For some reason, the two gestures feel identical.
Janine straddles his lap and smiles as he blushes. “So what do you want today, lover boy?”
He wraps his arms around her waist. He cannot resist leaning close and resting his cheek on her neck. Her perfume is heavy and fruity; perhaps cherry or passion.
“Do you feel like, maybe…lessons?” he says shyly.
She shrugs. “It’s your call, lover boy. I’m up for anything.”
He would abstain, if her tone was not so gentle, contented. The weekend and the “break” seem to have done her a lot of good.
He says that he would like lessons very much. She undresses herself, then him, and they do it all again. David is rusty; sex is not exactly something he can practice. As usual, his favorite part is the kissing; and then, the pillow talk.
Janine is never very willing to talk, afterward; she prefers to be quiet. David finds that if she wants to talk, she will talk; and if she wants to have sex again, she’ll find a way. But sometimes, she talks to him, and this is what he loves best. If he is careful, and asks the right questions, he can hear her voice and her stories for a very long time. She is fair; she makes him answer too--he feels a need to be accepted by her, and at once longs to tell her everything…and yet, keep his entire past a secret, to avoid a conflict between their views. He is honest, then, but brief.
And as he lays beside her, his arms hesitantly around her shoulders, he is satisfied that at least one thing has improved. He no longer ******** her; nor can he say that it is very much more, what they do together. It is simply having sex…not making love, yet….
But soon--he hopes--that will change.
~~~
On Tuesday, they have sex.
On Wednesday, they have sex.
On Thursday, they make love.
That day they go for the third time; Janine tells David to try something with his hips. David does so--experiments--emboldens in his steady motion--keeps going--and suddenly Janine screams; David, alarmed, draws back.
But to his surprise, she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him close, gasping, “No, don’t stop…keep going….”
So he does. She asks him breathlessly to go faster; makes a strange sound; a bit later, screams again. She won’t let him stop; her intensity scares him; she kisses him, does something impossible with her tongue, sets his blood aflame. Suddenly he doesn’t want to stop either.
They break apart after a bliss-soaked eternity; Janine is reluctant to halt, but can see (after trying, very hard) that he is too tired to keep going. She kisses him, hard, and he kisses her back until the sedatives in his blood take over his senses and he falls asleep.
He has a dream filled with orgasmic ecstasy and Janine’s delighted cries. When he awakens, still dazed, he finds that she is resting on his chest, rubbing his abdomen lightly with her fingertips. She sees that he’s awake; kisses him.
“Let’s go again, lover boy,” she says softly.
The happy longing in her eyes is too persuasive…and there is no arguing with her hand between his thighs. They make love again. David is surprised by how easy it is now; and how much Janine--and he as well--enjoys it.
Afterward, he forces himself to stay awake. Janine rests on top of him again, lets him hold her close. After a minute, she recovers, and starts to kiss his neck. He is still too tired to be properly aroused; instead, he closes his eyes and relishes her closeness.
“Janine,” he asks her, “was that…your first….”
“For ages and ages,” she replies. “You’d be surprised…I stopped caring, but…lover boy, let’s do it again--”
He wants to. But he can’t, at the moment. She sees this; buries her face in the curve of his neck.
“Did I scare you?” she teases.
“Yes,” he says honestly. “I thought I was hurting you.”
“Haven’t you ever been with a girl who came like that?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t know…how often it’s supposed to happen…everyone’s different….”
“Janine?”
“Mm?”
“You’re amazing. Mind-blowing. I’ve never….”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t coming before…!”
“Well, yes…but it was never…I’ve never enjoyed…ANYTHING this much, Janine….”
She smiles; he can feel her lips moving against his skin. “Then let’s go again, lover boy, c’mon--”
“I can’t.” But then he thought of a better idea.
Janine, he realizes, hasn’t had any real pleasure for a long time; no one ever cared enough about her to take the time and do it right. She is so excited, now, because he had…she wants more, all at once, like it is going to go away.
David is still exhausted, but he thinks that Janine deserves all the happiness she can get. So he finds a way; he takes her in his arms and kisses her, his hand slipping between her legs. She gasps in joyful surprise, which he takes as permission; he touches her, the way she taught him, but harder and surer--this time he knows what she wants. She gasps for breath--breaks away from him to cry out--he keeps going until she reaches down and takes his hand. He thinks she is guiding him, but instead, she takes his hand away.
“Nina,” she whispers.
He understands. He kisses her; she kisses back, for a moment. But then she turns away; she seems to have remembered something--her position, her job, her responsibilities, perhaps. She sits up.
“Thank you, she says quietly to the sheets, “for the…money.”
“Anytime,” he replies.
She bites her lip. Her eyebrows furrow. “I’m going to take a shower,” she tells him. “And by the time I come out, I want you gone.”
He blinks. Feels the disappointment caving his chest. “Can’t I go with you?” he asks. “Please?”
“No.”
He sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
He knows at once that he has said something effective; the question is, was it the wrong or right thing to say?
Janine is silent; then, finally, she says her customary line:
“As long as you’re paying.”
But there’s no heart in it today.
~~~
When Janine returns from her shower, David is nowhere in sight. She looks all around, but can’t find a trace of him; only a vague scent of shampoo and cologne on a pillow. She presses it to her nose, closes her eyes, and breathes it in--then she catches herself.
Don’t be ridiculous, Janna.
She half-runs out of the bedroom.
Later that night, before she goes to work at the coffee shop, she tucks Nina in on the couch and sits in the kitchen, killing time with eye makeup. But she is too distracted; she gives up, and reaches for what she really wants.
The diary opens to the last entry:
Dear God ******** YOU.
She thinks. Then she gets a pencil, and starts to write, erase, write, erase, again and again and again. She tears that page out, thinks, starts over in pen.
Dear David,
I (l) will be (dre) thinking about (your) you for (ev) a very long time.
Or at least until (for) tomorrow.
It works for her. She puts it away and heads for work.
~~~
The next day, David returns. Janine is waiting for hi. She exudes strange, incomprehensible emotions; feelings that conflict with each other. He is frightened, again, by her intensity.
She leads him up without a word. Ignores his polite greeting. When they are locked in, she slips off her dress and waits.
He kisses her, holds her--he’s worried about her--she responds, but with no enthusiasm. She tempts him with the tips of her fingers; he lays her gently down on the bed, and they….
Well, he doesn’t really know what it is. She makes no effort, lets him do as he pleases, just like when they first met. He wants to stop, afraid that something isn’t right, but then she gives forth a small moan of pleasure; so he keeps going.
She says nothing to him save the moans and the occasional scream. He begins to think, again, that something is wrong. He stops. Kisses her motionless lips.
“What’s the matter?” he asks her. “If you don’t want to, we can stop….”
She stares at him. “I’m a hooker. What’s it matter what I want? As long as you’re having fun, right?”
“Prostitute,” he corrects with a frown. “Really, Janine…I hate to think that I’m making you…I can’t enjoy myself if you aren’t.”
She stares, her eyebrows knitting together. She pushes him off of her and hugs her knees to her chest, staring at her feet. “Why?” she asks quietly.
He swallows. He isn’t ready to tell her the truth yet. “You said that…sex is about both people enjoying themselves….”
“But I’m a…PROSTITUTE,” she insists.
“You’re still a person,” he says softly.
She buries her face in her knees; the comment hit her hard. She says nothing: a minute passes….
Then, suddenly, she dives at him, pushing him down onto the bed; she licks him until he is hard, then kisses him, her body clearly stating what she wants. They do--something--but again, Janine becomes apathetic, unresponsive, almost bored….
He stops. “Janine…are you sure you’re okay? We really don’t have to….”
She doesn’t answer; she just rolls over, turning her back to him.
He is completely bewildered; he guesses that she wants him to do something, and is using a strategy most of his girlfriends used, but he is not well versed enough in feminine psychology to know what to do. He ponders for a moment; then he moves, pressing against her back and encircling his arms around her waist.
He kisses her shoulder, then her neck. “I want you to be happy, Janine,” he whispers to her. His senses are overloaded with her perfume, her closeness, the heat rolling off her skin. He turns her gently over, kisses her just behind her ear for a moment before moving his lips gently down her neck, across her shoulder, along her collarbones, to both breasts, down her abdomen. He thinks, but then decides on another course; he moves his lips to one of her breasts and keeps them there. This way, she doesn’t have to look at him, but he is near.
His fingers skim along her thigh, slipping between her legs; she gasps; he touches her, very gently, but enough to make her scream. He only stops when she, breathless, asks him to; then he wipes his wet fingers on the sheets and holds her close.
When she has recovered, slightly, she says frankly, “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” he asks, kissing the soft skin of her breast.
“Why are you worrying about ME? Why me? What did I ever do?”
He can tell at once that she has enjoyed herself, because of him; and she doesn’t see why he should go through so much just for that. She is thinking about the hundreds of dollars spent every day for no discernable purpose; the early rising; the gentleness; the consideration. It seems like so much trouble for her.
“Believe me, Janine,” he says softly, “please just take my word for it…trust me…you’re worth it.”
“But why me?” she asks again; she sounds upset.
David once heard someone say that no one believes they deserve love; that’s why so many people shy away from it. Janine, it seems, is one of those people.
He thinks for a moment before answering.
“I think…the right question is, why ME…I don’t think I deserve you at all,” he says truthfully. “You see so many men every week, and I’m just one of the crowd…just a customer, to you. I’m not different…I bet they all think that you’re amazing…and beautiful…and wonderful--”
“Stop it,” she snaps.
He looks up, surprised. Janine sits up, pushes him off of her, and glares at him.
“Who do you think you are?” she demands. “NO ONE thinks I’m anything like that. No one thinks I’m beautiful or great or…or anything….”
David meets her eyes, unashamed. “I do.”
She can see the truth. She is too smart not to; to smart to deny it. She stares at him.
Then she burst into tears.
He comforts her, but she is hesitant; she presses her knees together, hunches her shoulders as he holds her, as if trying to ward off an attack. But he refuses to back down; he strokes her hair, keeps whispering to her, and holds her tight. Eventually, she goes limp, resting her sticky face on his bare skin. He sways gently back and forth, very much aware of how close they are together, how little effort it would take to shift a bit and ******** her, before she’d even realize.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even get an erection. He respects her too much to do anything like that. If she had wanted him to lead a life of abstinence and perpetual virginity, he would have done it for her.
She stops crying before long. But she doesn’t pull away.
“What do you want, lover boy?” she whispers.
He knows the right answer today. “Can we be friends?”
“Just friends?”
He gulps. She knows…did she know? Well, then, it hardly mattered now…. “For a start,” he says truthfully. “Good friends.”
That answer satisfies her. She closes her eyes and rests. He leans against the headboard and makes sure she’s comfortable before resting himself. But he doesn’t fall asleep, and neither does she; she keeps opening and closing her eyes and sighing, randomly.
“Janine?” he asks after a while has passed.
She is silent for a moment. Then: “Yes?”
“Have you ever loved anyone before?”
She closes her eyes. Hides her face from view. “Nina.”
“And?”
He expects her to be cryptic at first, naming her parents, siblings, etc. But she doesn’t do that.
“Well,” she whispers slowly, “I thought I…no,” she amends. “No, I definitely did…yes.”
“Who?” he asks her gently.
She takes a shuddering breath; sighs. “It was years and years ago…I was 21, and…he was….”
He waits patiently; eventually, she tells him the whole story.
~~~
Janine was 21. She had just gained her job at the strip club; she started slow, just serving drinks and cleaning floors in a skintight top and miniskirt. The job was difficult; she had a quota of drinks to sell or else her pay--already less than minimum wage--was stinted, and drunken, horny men were always throwing drinks on her, gawking at her breasts beneath the wet see-through cloth, trying to feel her up. She was as of then unused to that kind of treatment; she tolerated it with a fake smile and a heavy heart.
All day she accepted sexual harassment, verbal abuse, and bad tips; she was unsure what to do with the men who offer her money for her services, wondering if she was still a prostitute, now that she had a proper job.
Her nights were usually spent mopping the floors until nearly morning; that or waking up nude in the strippers’ dressing room beside some snoring man. Sometimes, when she was stressed, she allowed men to buy her drinks; then there was no telling what she’d do. She got paid, though; so she let any offenses made to her go.
Her job got messier, more stressful; she brought home men to sleep with almost every night she worked, and though she got paid, she suffered often from minor injuries and exhaustion. Once a man slipped date rape into her drink; she blacked out, but he was caught and thrown out before he could do anything. Still, she never accepted a drink from a man after that.
Janine grew harder, more independent; her boss liked it, and promoted her to a slightly easier job; she was now less of a waitress and more of a geisha. Her duty now was to sit with men and charm them, lure them into drinking more or get them excited--part of it was dressing in a tight button-down shirt, teasing men by leaving the top part unbuttoned, revealing only a little of her chest, then eventually stripping free of it and her bra. If she did it right, it drove men insane, and she was generously tipped. She was good; she was paid much better.
She became Janette the half-stripper, the tease, the whore--whatever people felt like calling her. She learned to be flirtatious, sexy, tempting; she learned the power and influence of her body, and used it.
One night, as she was going around and entertaining, she met a young man who was interested in her long before he started drinking. She made it to his table and started to flirt with his friends; he, however, had either already fallen for her or was unimpressed. She sat on his lap, took his face in her hands, gave him a smoldering look, and asked him if he would like a drink; but to her surprise, he refused. He didn’t drink.
He watched her all night, came back the next day. It turned out that his name was Paul; he was blonde and tall and twenty-four. His friends had dragged him there last night, but then he came on his own to see her. She was flattered by him. He was smooth; he complimented her beautiful face, ignored her barely-covered breasts, looked right into her eyes.
“I’d really like to get to know you better, Janette,” he told her with a smile.
She played it cool; shrugged. “I work here every night,” she informed him. “Come back tomorrow.”
“No,” he had objected, and his hand rested gently on her cheek. “I mean…more intimately.”
She stiffens; she knows what he means. She rises to her feet.
“It’ll cost you,” she says.
He figured as much.
He brought a hundred dollars to the club the next night; she led him to the dressing rooms, they undress, and she lets him ******** her. But he surprises her. He is not kinky or rough or sadistic like other men; he is smooth and slow and sensual, he kisses her as he gives her straight sex, no tricks or quirks. To her surprise, she almost orgasms; but then his time is up. He smiles and thanks her, then goes home. She dresses and gets back to work.
The next night he doesn’t come back. Instead, he calls upon her at home.
She heard a knock on her door as she was reclining on her couch; she went over and inquired, “What do you want?” This was her usual greeting; she got men over there all the time.
She saw two fifty-dollar bills waving on the other side of the peephole. “Two hours,” said Paul’s voice. “Is that you, Janette?”
“Yes,” she said, and let him in. He smiled his crooked, lovely smile and stroked her cheek.
“You look beautiful today,” he told her. She felt herself blushing; she wasn’t in the right mindset to be sexy.
She didn’t have to. He led her to the couch, straddled her, and ******** her again--no, it wasn’t ********. Not at all. She enjoyed herself; she actually got pleasure out of it, though not enough for her cravings. She longed for real sex, the kind in movies; she longed for love in her lonely life.
And Paul gave her a taste.
Afterward he stoped; “You look tired,” he said simply, and sat beside her, resting his hand softly on her leg.
“I’m not, really,” she lied. Her voice came out strangely; he was messing with her mind.
He didn’t believe her. “Let me help,” he suggested, and pushed her gently onto her back. He spread her knees and pressed his mouth against the soft skin between her legs….
It was the best hour of Janine’s life; no one had ever done that for her before. She begged him not to stop, and he didn’t, not until he informed her that their time was almost over.
Janine couldn’t stand it; she had never felt so elated in her life. She refused to let him go until she gave him, as he put it, “the best b*****b of his life”. He groaned with longing when she stopped; but she really had to go. He understood.
He kissed her goodbye; she threw herself into the kiss with more passion than was professional. He smiled at her, told her that she can do some amazing things with her lips, and left.
Paul returned sporadically over the next few weeks; Janine secretly longed for his return, though she was often disappointed. But once he was there, all was forgotten; he was sweet release, pleasure after days of pain. It didn’t take him long at all to figure out how to make Janine orgasm; after that, to her immense surprise, he did it every time. She couldn’t get enough; she was addicted to him.
She told him so, after awhile. He laughed and said that he was addicted to her, too. She told him that she hated being away from him; he said he wished he could fix it. She begged him to come back every day; if he did, she wouldn’t charge him anything.
He did.
And Janine fell hopelessly in love.
He insisted, to her, that her pleasure was his pleasure, and focused on her much of the time; she felt it was only fair to return the favor, and when they both focused on that, together they had the best sex Janine had ever experienced. She began to become insane, as she thinks of it; she had fantasies about him, she longed to tell him she loved him, ask him to marry her. She suffered from feeling inferior, realizing she was only a whore, and he a free, handsome young man who could probably get any girl he wanted.
Still, he came back. And came back. Janine was certain she was in love, but didn’t know how to say it….
Finally, she did the best she could: One day she told him, as he was slipping on a condom, “Paul, honey? You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to.”
He didn’t. She never made him wear one after that. Their sex was ten times better; they no longer had to worry about the condom, and didn’t bother worrying about anything else after it. They made love with no reserve, no control; and Janine was in heaven.
Two weeks later, she missed her period; she took a test and found that she was pregnant.
She was overjoyed…but when she told Paul, after a bout of particularly wonderful sex, he looked shocked, then scared.
“I thought you were on the pill,” he said.
Janine frowned. “No. I don’t believe in it.”
“But you said….” He paused, recalling that she had said nothing of the sort. “You’re PREGNANT?” he demanded.
She nodded, joyous tears welling in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Isn’t it great, Paul?” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his throat.
“Are you sure it’s mine?” he said hoarsely.
“Almost certain…” she murmured, “but we’ll run tests, to be sure…I’m so happy, Paul….”
“Janette….” He couldn’t say anything. He was too surprised.
“I love you, Paul,” she told him at last. “I love you…we can have the baby, and we’ll be so happy…Paul, will you marry me…?”
She is half-delirious, but she means it. He can see that.
He is scared out of his mind.
He mumbles an excuse, pulls on his pants, and runs away. Janine never saw him face-to-face again.
Two months later, he returned. Janine refused to let him in; instead, he talked to her from the other side of the door.
He told her that he was sorry. He admitted that she had taken him by surprise, and said that his behavior was inexcusable. He said that he loved her too, he really did, but he wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship, with her or anyone. He couldn’t even consider being a father, or a husband; he didn’t know how, and he‘d be terrible at it. He admitted to fear, and to loneliness, during those past weeks, and said that he didn’t want to part from her again. But if it meant marriage, and a family…well, he would be forced to.
“Janette,” he begged her, “please, please just get rid of the baby…and I swear to you, we’ll have another one soon, let’s just…plan for it first…I’m not ready, I can’t do this now…but I swear, Janette, if we can just stop this before it’s too late…I’ll stay with you forever…I just can’t….”
He paused. It was hard for him. Janine listened without emotion.
“Please, Janette?” he implored. “Come on out…I’ll get you a taxi to the clinic…please?”
Janine thought in silence. Whether he meant to or not, he had given her an ultimatum. Baby or him.
Paul…or her baby?
Janine chose her entire future in forty seconds.
“I want to keep the baby,” she told him quietly.
He wheedled. She stood firm. He demanded to know if she preferred him to the baby; at least with him, he yelled through the door, she could just have more. But her baby was special to her, the first baby she would ever have, and would never be the same as any other child. She wouldn’t back down. She made her own ultimatum.
“I’m keeping this baby. Are you keeping it with me, or are you going to get your heartless a** out of my doorway?”
Paul got angry with her. “What the hell is your problem, Janette?” he demanded. “Do you want to be a whore forever? I’ll keep being your paycheck forever, just give me a break here!”
That hit her hard. Another ultimatum. If she kept the baby, who knew how long she’d be a prostitute?
But then, who knew how long she’d be Paul’s mistress?
Life was full of what ifs. Janine knew, between her unborn child and Paul, who would love her more. Who would trust her more. Who would need her more.
She walked to her bedroom, grabbed his shirt from the honored place in the closet, opened the front door, and shoved it in his face. “My name isn’t even Janette!” she screamed at him. “Get out, I never want to see you again!”
And she slammed the door in his face.
~~~
“Nina’s father,” David says at once.
“Yes.”
“Oh….” The full force of the tale hits him. “Oh, Janine, I’m so sorry….”
“Sorry never does anything.” She sighs. “After he left…I almost wanted to…to get a knife, and just…kill us both.” She carefully touched a place near her navel. “Even when she was due any day….”
He held her tightly, pressing his cheek against her hair. “I’m glad you didn’t….”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “But Nina…I’m glad Nina’s here.”
“But…if it’s not too much to ask--”
“Go on. I don’t care.”
“Why didn’t you pick Paul? Don’t get me wrong…but I just wonder…life would have been so much easier for you….”
Janine does not answer for a long time. Finally, she tells him, “You’ll never be pregnant. I could feel Nina. She was alive, and safe, and happy…she still is…I knew, something told me, that if she lived, it would be worth it, all of it. And it is. I’d do anything for Nina. And no matter how many babies I had with Paul, they would never be quite the same.”
David thinks he can understand. He tells her so. She smiles.
“I bet you can, lover boy…you’re nothing like him.”
“Is that…a good thing?” he hedges, worried.
She keeps smiling. Doesn’t answer.
“Are you all out of questions yet, lover boy? Or do you feel like ******** me again?”
David smiles; laughs at what he says before he says it. “It won’t be ********,” he assures her as he rolls on top of her and kisses her neck. “Making love.”
She laughs too. “Whatever you call it,” she says congenially, “let‘s just do it.”
And then they do.
~~~
David is learning Janine’s moods now. He can tell when she wants to make love, when she wants to be still and quiet, when she wants to be left alone. She still says and does odd things, but they don’t scare him so much anymore. He lets her lead; what she wants to do, they do.
Usually, to his surprise, it’s sex. One would think she’s had enough for a lifetime and a half, but she still wants it. David thinks that she just wants GOOD sex--something she doesn’t get very often. He’s just happy that he can give it to her, or at least--he assumes--to her standards.
The next day, she seems glad to see him; she kisses him almost constantly and won’t let him stop making love for hours. They try new positions, methods; some David, the prudish romantic, won’t do, but the rest are incredible, a new adventure.
Afterward, she lays beside him and kisses him. He tells her that it’s his favorite part; she laughs. Then she glances, habitually, at the clock. It is past two.
“I miss Nina,” she sighs. “I think I’ll go early today….”
“May I come with you?” David asks her.
She shakes her head. Gives him one last kiss before she gets up.
“Thanks for the cash, lover boy.”
He leaves with lights and sweet clouds dancing around in his head.
~~~
He continues with his Interview. Asks her a question each day.
“Are you happy?”
Janine blinks at this one. “What do you mean?”
“Are you happy? Do you feel happy?”
She sighs. “As happy as I ever get.”
“But is it…REALLY happy?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“Could you be happier?”
“Jesus, lover boy, who cares?”
“I do.”
“Probably. Why?”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. Why would you do anything?”
“Because…I just want you to be happy, is all. And if there’s anything I can do….”
“I’m all right.”
He holds her close. “Are you happy right now? Right here?”
“Sure, lover boy.”
“Do you think I’m good at sex?”
“Yeah. You’ve gotten much better. But why…?”
“Better than Paul?”
She stiffens. “No one’s….”
He feels something icy clench around his heart. No one’s better than Paul?
But instead, she said, “No one’s the same. It’s different for each person. You’re a lot different than…than he was.”
“Is that good?” he presses, despite his common sense. He is probably upsetting her, but he wants to know….
“Jesus ******** Christ…men are so insecure….” She turns her head and kisses his neck. “Yes, I like having sex with you. And believe me, lover boy, I don’t say that to everyone.”
He is satisfied. Inside, he glows.
The next day, he has to work up a lot of nerve. Only sex-induced delirium can give him the courage.
“Do you still love him?”
Janine scowls. “What the ********, lover boy?”
“Do you?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Do you?”
She sighs. “Fine…yes.”
He swallows.
“And no,” she adds.
“Go on.”
“I…I love that he was nice to me…and I love what he gave me. I love Nina; and I love her father, for giving her to me. But he didn’t want her, and I can’t ever forgive him for that…and anyway, I never got to know him…no, I don’t love HIM…just the memory….”
He wants that to mean “yes”; but his heart tells him it means “no”. Perhaps, just this once, for both their sakes, he can take it at face value. Yes and no. She loves the happiness and the fruits of their relationship. She hates what he did. She doesn’t know the man himself.
David is not the sort of person who dwells on the bad things. He is naturally a passive optimist. He takes that, disregard the tendency of people in general--mostly girls--to euphemize about their feelings, or even lie, and moves onto the next question.
What’s your favorite thing to do? (Go to the park with Nina.)
Do you like poetry? Flowers? Candy? Chocolate? Sunsets? (Some. Sure. Not really. Are you kidding? Yes, but the time after a sunset is prettier.)
Where do you want to go, if you could? (Somewhere with no people. Maybe a mountain…somewhere green and cool, with water and flowers….)
What is Nina like? (She’s real sweet. Shy, smart…nothing like me….”
Can I come with you to pick her up?
He asks the last question every day. Janine always says no….
But one day, he asks; she thinks; then she smiles.
“Sure.”
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Posted: Wed May 07, 2008 2:42 am
hmmm mood swings... mood rings? razz and as for David hes just there at the wrong time I suppose :/
good stuff tho! smile
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Posted: Wed May 07, 2008 6:16 pm
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Posted: Wed May 07, 2008 6:54 pm
Yay. heart
If David had come at any time that day, most liekly she'd still be in that mood. Or something. It is different per girl, so don't take my word on any of this; I'm not nearly as bad as she is.
Working.
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Posted: Wed May 07, 2008 7:54 pm
well yeh I meant like in general if he had come at any other day or something didn't have to be that day rather... .........
.....you have more?
if there was a emote for puppy dog eyes I would use it now.
but as for now this... crying
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 7:46 pm
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:55 am
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 2:20 pm
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 7:16 pm
got writer's block....
After I get over this bit it should be smooth sailing again.
^^;
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 8:17 pm
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 9:12 pm
yes, very. I found it interesting the last day that Janine decided to talk to him ...likely only doing it out of curiosity... My thoughts are David really is going to need to tell her what he thinks if he wants to get further... but strangely... I think she is going to tell him no.... but thats just an opinion of mine....I would not know why and I would not know how...but thats jus what I think she would say...
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Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 2:02 pm
eh. getting to the part that might change her mind. >:3 YAY FOR MORE SEX!!!!!
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Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 6:22 pm
I like Janine. It's like she's real. I like the story. It was the first thing I read when I came back. Keep writing, okay? 3nodding
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