Faith in the Flesh

by Maira Isabel Pita

  “You’re an artist?” Rosa exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! Are you a painter?”

  I could tell he was surprised, almost stunned by her response. Her enthusiasm was a disorienting bomb going off in place of the disapproving silence he had apparently come to expect from many people since artists rarely make much money.

  “No, I’m a sculptor,” he confessed, meeting my eyes, and in their dark depths I suddenly saw the piece we had been looking at in the gallery yesterday, the sculpture of a man and woman making love…

  “You’re a sculptor?” Rosa regarded him with awe. Not only did this strikingly handsome man possess Italian blood, his already special genes were obviously pure enough to contain the creative chromosome obsessed with beauty that in her opinion set Italians above all other mortals.

  “Was that your piece in the gallery?” I exclaimed. “It was, wasn’t it?” I went on excitedly before he could reply. “That’s why you looked at me that way when I said it was the only thing I’d seen all night I really liked.”

  “A gallery here in the Gables is showing your work?” Rosa gasped.

  He shrugged. “The owner’s a friend of mine,” he said humbly, looking a little uncomfortable.

  “That’s wonderful. I must see it. Which gallery is it in?”

  “We can talk about that later, Mami,” I said quickly, sensing and respecting his modesty. “Right now it’s time for dessert.”

  He smiled at me. “That was an incredible meal, Ariana, and very filling. I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

  “I normally don’t have dessert either but tonight’s a special occasion.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  “I didn’t make it. We’re just having chocolate ice cream and whipped cream.”

  “Wonderful.” He picked up his plate and pushed back his chair back to help clean up.

  “You sit down at once, young man!” Rosa commanded with all the authority her soft golden plumpness could muster. “I’ll clear the table while Ariana brings out dessert and then I’ll make us all some coffee.”

  “Sounds wonderful, Rosa, thank you,” he said but he was looking at me and his smile tasted sweeter to my soul than any dessert ever could.

  * * * * *

  John stayed late, long after Rosa had tactfully gone to bed. We sat on the cream-colored couch as close together as possible, talking and talking like old friends who haven’t seen each other in centuries. We had opened another bottle from my mother’s rack and the wine flowed as freely as our thoughts and feelings, mingling without any predetermined direction. We talked about everything and anything that came into our minds, only occasionally interrupting our conversation to kiss silently and lingeringly, the crystal glasses in our hands an exquisite torment since they made it impossible for us to embrace. We could easily have set our glasses down on the coffee table but I deliberately kept mine in hand because I was afraid of going too far too fast with this very special man. I wanted to do everything right with him. It was distracting enough just having the delicious pressure of his arm draped over my shoulders, not to mention the sweet distraction of his free hand every now and then stroking my hair as we spoke. Part of me enjoyed savoring the anticipation even as I reached down and lightly caressed the hard-on buried inside his pants.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I just couldn’t resist.”

  He placed his hand over mine. “That’s all right. I like it there.”

  “I don’t want to tease you…”

  “You’re not teasing me, Ariana. I understand your concerns and I’m perfectly willing to wait.”

  “I know it seems silly.”

  “I could never consider anything you wanted silly. But now I think I’d better leave because I’m getting so turned on I won’t be able to walk soon.”

  “Oh please don’t go yet. You haven’t finished your wine.”

  His smile deepened as he stared into my eyes. “You’re right, I haven’t finished my wine,” he agreed but then he took my glass from me and set it down along with his on the coffee table. “But that’s not why I’m staying.” He took my hand and helped me up off the couch. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry, I respect your desire to wait and this isn’t the right place anyway.” He glanced in the direction of Rosa’s bedroom. “All I want is to see you naked.” He suddenly grabbed me by the hips and pulled me to him. “I need to see you naked, Ariana, so I’m going to undress you and then tuck you in.”

  “But…”

  He let go of me. “Go brush your teeth and wash up.” He sank down onto the couch again. “I’ll finish my wine while you get ready for bed like a good girl.” The soft smile never left his lips but his dark eyes were serious. The look he gave me was intensely sober even as he retrieved his wine glass and took a patient sip.

  I just stood there.

  “Is something wrong, Ariana? You’re not saying you don’t you trust me to respect your wishes, are you?”

  His mild tone did not fool me. He was testing the depth, sincerity and strength of my purported feelings for him. His challenge me made me so happy I was speechless for a crucial moment that caused him to misinterpret my silence.

  “Should I leave?” he asked so softly his voice might have been the whisper of my own blood beating through my heart in those crossover moments I would remember forever.

  “No, please don’t go, John, I…I trust you. I just don’t…I just don’t trust myself. I mean, how can I possibly be naked in front of you and not—”

  “I already told you nothing is going to happen tonight, Ariana.” He spoke kindly but firmly. “Don’t worry. You can be as weak as you like.” He paused to sip his wine. “I won’t let you fall.”

  “Oh God.” I glanced up at the ceiling before once again meeting the eyes of the man who already had more power over me than any abstract idea of divinity ever would. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to brush my teeth.”

  “I’ll be here. Don’t rush. I want you to do everything you would normally do before going to bed.”

  “Everything? Even wash my face and take off my makeup?”

  “Yes.” He arched a dark eyebrow as if all my questions were making him even more incredulous than I felt. “Everything, Ariana.”

  I sighed, “Okay!” and turned away.

  Once in the bathroom I flicked on the light and quickly closed the door behind me. Shining irises the color of tiger’s eyes looked back at me above flushed cheeks and a radiant smile of disbelief. Sometimes how beautiful I am surprises me but that night it truly stunned me and I realized it was because I was seeing myself though John’s eyes. His perception of me felt so amazingly wonderful it was a few minutes before I could focus enough to pick up my toothbrush and perform the mechanical task of cleaning my teeth. Then I washed off my makeup with an exfoliating facial cleanser, patted my skin dry with a soft towel and finished off with a nocturnal moisturizing cream I smoothed dreamily into my cheeks and neck. Finally I brushed out my hair and, bracing myself, walked back out into the living room, almost wishing he had left while I still had all my defenses intact.

  He stood up when he saw me, abandoning his empty glass. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked again.

  There was no escaping it. I was going to sleep with him tonight, all my moral resolutions be damned. “Over there.” I indicated the side of the house opposite from the one which my mother occupied.

  “Good.” He slipped my hand into his again and I obediently led him to the bedroom in which I had slept since I was a baby—until I left home in my twenties.

  The room was absolutely dark, protected from the penetrating glare of streetlights by the lush tropical foliage growing in front of both windows.

  I said “Just a minute” and instinctively found my way to a lamp on the nightstand. I switched it on and my breath caught as I turned around in time to see him closing the door behind u
s. Suddenly I couldn’t believe he was there and that he was real. I had to make an effort not to sink down onto the bed behind me as my knees nearly buckled beneath a profound rush of mingled relief and disbelief.

  He looked so tall and elegant in his black pants and white shirt with the top three buttons undone, almost like a businessman but much sexier, and at some point during the evening he had rolled the long sleeves casually up to his elbows. He gazed curiously around my old bedroom, his eyes and smile lingering on my beloved collection of all-time favorite Barbie dolls—thirteen of them standing, sitting and reclining on a table in the corner.

  “I never played with baby dolls,” I informed him.

  His expression didn’t change as he looked from my dolls back to me. “Take off your dress,” he said.

  I almost felt made of plastic myself and needing his willpower just to move my arms so I could obey him. I was wearing a simple red dress with spaghetti straps that clung gently to my bra-free breasts and my hips. The skirt fell to mid-thigh, showing off my long bare legs, flatteringly balanced on red high-heeled sandals. After my shower that afternoon I had made sure the paint on my toenails was also the exact same shade of red as my shoes and dress. The only contrast I had chosen was one he could not see yet—white cotton bikini panties.

  “Would you like my help?” he teased when I failed to obey him and took a threatening step toward me.

  “No,” I said quickly, because if he touched me I was lost. I lifted the dress up over my head and I would have tossed it carelessly away if he hadn’t reached out and taken it from me. He raised it to his face, inhaling the scent of my skin as he caressed the soft fabric. His smile had vanished, replaced by a contemplative look, and the sensual way the fabric draped over his hands made me aware of how long and strong his fingers were. Their firm, rounded ends looked as strangely sensitive as I knew they were slightly rough.

  At last he turned his eyes up from my lifeless frock and took in my naked body, completely exposed before him except for white bikini panties and red high heels. The crimson cloth seemed to faint at his feet. He was wearing black shoes that stepped silently across the carpet toward me.

  “You’re beautiful, Ariana.”

  I had always known I possessed a nice figure but the way he looked at me made me feel as though every part of my body was a work of art mysteriously fashioned in just the right way to please him. I had expected to feel shy and awkward as I held myself perfectly still and was surprised that I didn’t. It felt wonderfully natural to hold myself motionless as he studied me.

  There was just enough space between my body and the bed for him to step behind me and I caught my breath as his cool clothes brushed my warm bare flesh. I waited for him to touch me but he just looked me silently up and down from all angles. I remembered then—with the small part of my brain that could think about anything besides how much I wanted him to touch me—that he was a sculptor, a very good, very talented sculptor with a feel for how a man and a woman’s bodies merged during sex…

  I closed my eyes as he stepped in front of me again. I didn’t understand how it was possible that we weren’t going to make love. I was so turned on by his scrutiny, so aroused by the lingering caress of his awareness it seemed a crime to let him leave and to just go to sleep. As if I possibly could.

  “I’d like to take your panties off for you, Ariana,” he said quietly, meeting my eyes. “May I?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  The first touch of his fingers against my skin was literally electric from static build-up in the carpet and I gasped.

  A flash of amusement softened his firm mouth for an instant as he gently hooked his thumbs into my panties and then slowly pulled them down as he sank to one knee before me, caressing my hips and the edges of my thighs and legs with his hands.

  I stepped out of them carefully, my equilibrium threatened by much more than high heels.

  Rising, he inhaled the intimate fragrance clinging to my delicate undergarment. “You’re wet, Ariana,” he accused mildly. “Does it excite you to be looked at?”

  “You’re not being fair! Of course I’m excited, how could I—”

  “Relax,” he urged gently, dropping my panties and stepping right up to me so only a charged breath of air separated my painfully hard nipples from his soft shirt. “I’m glad it excites you to be looked at naked.” He stroked the hair away from my face with both hands and the balls of his thumbs brushed my cheeks in a way that was both caressing and assessing. “You’re going to be doing a lot of modeling for me in the future, Ariana.”

  “Oh I would love that!”

  “But now I just want you to be a good girl and lie back across the bed for me. Just sit on the edge…that’s right…and lie back.”

  I protested even as my body languidly did as he requested. “But you said—”

  “Relax,” he repeated softly. “I just want to see all of you.”

  I closed my eyes as he spread my legs then desperately clutched the comforter as I felt him kneel directly between them. The experience of his hands pushing open my thighs was so exquisite that resisting whatever he intended to do was inconceivable to me.

  “Oh yes,” he whispered.

  I bit my lip, thinking I should be embarrassed to have my pussy studied so closely but I wasn’t. However I was very glad I had shaved and that my sex was nice and smooth to the touch.

  “Oh no, John,” I protested faintly yet I didn’t move a muscle to stop him. My willpower was effortlessly undone by the sensation of his fingertip thrusting gently between the folds of my labia directly beneath where my clitoris huddled shyly in its hood.

  Lightly, he caressed the length of my slit. “It’s all right, Ariana…”

  He was reassuring me but the sensation of his warm breath on the vulnerably open cleft in my flesh only deepened my desire for him painfully. I wanted his hard cock inside me and I wanted it now. It was stupid to wait.

  “Please!” I begged ambiguously, meaning, “Please take me!” and “Please don’t!” all in one paradoxical breath. Then I breathed, “Oh yes!” as his tongue licked its way up between my sex lips. Its energetic tip flickered just beneath my clit and roused it out from beneath its fleshy cover so swiftly and skillfully the intensity of the pleasure I experienced dazed me. I told myself he was only licking my pussy. We weren’t fucking so he hadn’t broken his promise, not really.

  His tongue possessed skills I had never dreamed of. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible that I could already feel myself coming. The skilled working of his firm tongue was showing my body the way to go, urging my flesh to surrender to the sweet, hot bliss building up between my thighs in record time.

  “Oh, John… Oh my God!”

  He thrust one hard finger all the way up inside me, pointing out how deep and wet and open I was with such devastating effectiveness that I immediately began climaxing. I arched my back and clung to the comforter for all I was worth as I silently rode the wave of a miraculously fast and powerful orgasm. When it was over—when my ecstasy had stopped rushing into his mouth while my clitoris glowed with a sensation much more precious than the price of a pearl—I opened my eyes and raised my head off the bed to look at the man kneeling between my legs.

  His eyes met mine over my naked body. “Now I can say good night, Ariana.”

  I started to sit up.

  “No. Stay right there,” he commanded gently. “I want to remember you just as you are now. I can let myself out.”

  It took all the willpower I possessed to merely stare up at the ceiling when I so much wanted to look at him. “When will I see you again, John?”

  “Tomorrow. Good night, Ariana.”

  I relaxed and turned my head so I could watch him as he walked away. “Good night!” I called after him.

  “Sweet dreams,” he said and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  I slept as peacefully as a well-loved baby all night long. In the morning I got up rea
dy to deal with my familial responsibilities. I had behaved quite selfishly since I’d arrived in Miami. It was time to face my relatives. Mami and I were planning to spend the afternoon with my grandfather.

  It was my off day running, which was nice because I was already feeling wonderfully relaxed. Boston seemed as far away as it was old—a strangely dark and vague memory on the horizon of my thoughts despite the fact that I had left there only a few days ago. I wasn’t making any conscious decision yet about moving back down to Florida, not because it was too soon but because I was afraid to tempt fate. All the signs pointed south to absolute sensual fulfillment and happiness but part of me still couldn’t quite trust how fast it was all happening. I was keeping one cautious foot on my emotional brake just in case, even while savoring the scenery of absolute contentment emerging inside me, a temperamental landscape I was not at all accustomed to.

  The morning after John came to dinner everything felt different, as though gravity had become just a little bit lighter, more dreamlike. It would be a cliché—not to mention a physical impossibility in Miami—to say that the sun shone more brightly that day but that’s what it felt like, as though the mysterious tarnish of doubt had been wiped clean from my perceptions. For the first time since I was a little girl I believed, I knew for sure, that dreams could come true.

  I had just finished dressing when my cell phone rang.

  I eagerly snatched up the little metal fragment of technology lying on one of my pillows. “Hello?” I answered hopefully.

  “Hello, Ariana.”

  My room darkened as the sun momentarily vanished behind a cloud. “Hello, Eric.” I had succeeded in forgetting all about him, almost. The truth was I had simply filed his wild card in the very back of my mind hoping my silence would cause him to fold and that our little game would end so I could stop worrying about the gamble I had made fucking him. I was afraid the way I had cheated on my deeper feelings would cause me to lose everything I was hoping for now.

  “You don’t sound very happy to hear from me.” His words were accusing but his tone was casual—a thin glove over the guilt he was trying to hit me with. “I’m just busy,” I said. “I’m going to see my grandfather today and I’m cooking for him. He loves my cooking. I have three things on the stove and two in the oven.”