by Anna Chillon
The sponge came to rub on the top of my sore pussy, pressing down.
“I could do it to you again.”
He tightened his jaw at his admission, exhaling toward the tiles. Then he pinched my chin in his fingers shaking it a little with indulgence. “Giada, the whole time you did not say the one thing that would’ve stopped me.”
“What?”
“‘No’. It would’ve been enough to simply say ‘no’.”
“Didn’t I say it?"
“Not once. Not even shaking your head. Not even when I hurt you.”
“I didn’t think of it...”
“Exactly.”
He took my knees, separated them, and passed the sponge softly over the part that had suffered the most. “I'll make you feel good too. That's what you’ve just chosen.”
I knew he would, I was very confident in his ability as a lover considering that all he needed to do was look at me to give me butterflies. I gave him a shy smile and he smiled back.
“How's your knee?”
I moved it under the water. “I can feel it pulsating.”
“A lot?” He put his hands around it.
“A little.”
“It’ll pass,” he said, tapping it, as if the mere fact that he was saying it would be enough to make it true.
He stood beside me until I fell asleep in my bed. Thirty minutes later, I woke up, Vincent was gone, my mind went through the events of that night several times, and yet I wasn’t able explain to myself what was causing the conflict in my head.
I knew I ought to feel bad, but I didn’t. Maybe I felt a bit sad for something I’d lost, a bit melancholic and wanted to be cuddled, but sorry?
No not at all. May God have pity on me, on him and the enormous mess we’d made.
Chapter 6
On Sunday morning I opened my eyes and everything came back. For a few moments I stared at the ceiling, my hand slid down to the lower abdomen, and I bit my lip. I tried to turn over. I had the feeling that my stomach was inside out, as if someone had rummaged about inside, which was pretty much true. I also had a massive secret that was roaming about in my head that I had to deal with.
I got up, brushed my teeth, did everything that I did every morning, though everything seemed to have a different flavor, like when my Mum put cinnamon in the baked apples and suddenly they didn’t just taste of apple but more. A potent and sinful flavour.
I put a tracksuit on and decided to go downstairs. I needed a good coffee to get me going before Vincent came back to see me. I wondered how he would behave and what he’d expect of me. Probably nothing, anyway I thought he’d already had what he wanted. The thought hurt me, but I wasn’t going to let him know.
Did I really think he wouldn’t be expecting anything?
Despite what had happened, I was still terribly naive.
The scent of coffee that I started to notice wafting up the stairs made me realize that I didn’t even have a minute to psychologically prepare to meet him. I found him in the kitchen. He’d put pastries fresh out of the oven on a plate and was turning off the gas under the coffee pot. I leant against the kitchen island. He seemed so comfortable, casual, as if the night before hadn’t happened and something very similar to a grenade hadn’t fallen on me. His shirt was half in and half out of his jeans... I’d never noticed how well he wore them before now.
“Good morning,” I murmured.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” He turned to look at me over his shoulder with an investigative expression, instantly embarrassing me.
I gathered my hair pulling it to one side. “I had a lot of strange dreams.”
“Are you sure they were dreams?” He managed a mischievous look even at that time in the morning. “Come here.” He came to me, his jeans were still open with the belt dangling, the protrusion that kept the flap apart was very eloquent.
I instinctively stepped back to get away from him slamming my bottom against the fridge, a slight tremor vibrating on my lips to the still too clear memory of the previous night. I turned my head to the right and left into the trap and bent over, looking down.
“Woah-woah, what's going on?” He asked, raising his palms.
I swallowed, keeping my eyes on my shoes. “Nothing.”
Coming even closer, Vincent raised the warning rating. “You must be honest with me. Always.” It was not a kind request, it was an order.
Building up courage, I craned my neck back to look at his face. “It's just that I thought you wanted to do it again, now.”
“Not now, Giada, I just made coffee.”
“But...” relieved and perhaps at the same time disappointed, I dared to brush his member through the black cotton boxers that were restraining it, visible under the undone flap of jeans. I wanted to appear adult and brazen, but in truth he, and most of all his penis, left me a bit in awe.
He laughed and tucked my hair behind my ear. “If I had to fuck every time I got a hard on it would be a tragedy. But if you carry on provoking it, I doubt I'll be able to let you have your breakfast. Now say good morning to me properly.”
He pulled away from the fridge, tucking his hands under the elastic waistband of the tracksuit and grasping my buttocks in his hands, and lifting me up by the arse he gave me a delicate kiss. He was working his magic on me again. His gestures, his words, the way he looked at me, all made me fall into a kind of hypnotic trance, intimidated and attracted at the same time. To heighten the effect there was that new confidence, it was a bit weird; the day before we hardly touched and now he behaved like he had free access to my body.
“Are you OK, little wren?” He murmured, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Mh-mh”
“Is everything OK? Is your tummy OK?”
“Yes… not too bad.”
Somewhat embarrassed I fled his gaze turning mine away towards the lounge. There was a crumpled blanket and pillows piled on the couch.
“Did you sleep here?”
You didn’t leave me?
He finished dressing himself. “I went out this morning to get pastries for you and a change of clothes.”
I breathed in the smell of custard. “You have brilliant ideas sometimes, you know?”
“Only sometimes, huh? Well, that's already something.” He invited me to sit down for breakfast.
I thought that we wouldn’t be able to ignore the awkward situation, and that he, being the adult, would face the matter, but obviously everything that he had to say about what had happened he’d already said in his speech the evening before. I’d made the decision not to send him away, but he seemed to have decided everything that would follow, without my knowledge. Reassuring on one hand and terrifying on the other.
I was served with a pastry with a fragrant vanilla scent and a generous cup of coffee. Vincent approached a teaspoon of sugar waiting for me to nod and he let it slide inside.
“Thank you. One more” I urged.
“Too much sugar’s not good for you.”
“More” I insisted.
He added another teaspoon, then filled it again, curious to see how far I’d go.
I nodded. He tipped the third one in and brought another one to the cup, seeming a bit against it.
I accepted it. “Yes, that too.”
“You do not drink coffee. You eat coffee-flavored sugar. It's not OK, Giada.” Yet he filled the fourth challenging me.
I raised my hand to stop it. “I like things sweet.”
“No, I don’t think so. You're just used to it, but when you start taking it bitter and strong, you won’t go back. You'll love it, I guarantee it.” He didn’t even put one grain of sugar in his.
I shrugged, mixing the steaming coffee. “Why should I take it bitter?”
“Because I'm telling you to.”
Yes, I might have been naive, but hell, I knew that he wasn’t talking about coffee, or at least not just about that.
The home phone rang and he handed me the cordless he found close
by for me to answer. It was my mother.
“Hello Mum. Everything alright?” I listened to her answer, but I didn’t register any of it. Her words went in and out without leaving any trace.
I replied mechanically. “Yes, everything’s fine here too.”
Apart from the fact that Dad's friend took me by force, Mum.
“Vincent slept on the couch,” I confessed.
And now he wants to give me some bitter coffee, Mum.
She wondered why.
“Because I was afraid of thieves.”
Because he decided to. Because I didn’t think of saying ‘no,’ Mum.
She said I’d been right to call him if I was scared, but that I shouldn’t have to expected him to stay if there was no need.
“No Mum, I didn’t ask him.”
I didn’t ask for it, he just put it in and that was that.
Vincent gestured with my hand to pass the phone.
“Adele,” he greeted her cheerfully, with a clear and purely masculine tone, a bit sensual, like a brand name aftershave. He put the phone between his shoulder and ear as he laced his trainers up. “Don’t mention it, it wasn’t a problem, I assure you. She was just a little frightened at first, but then she calmed down. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell you she did a little damage last night, I’m afraid it’s irreparable.”
The cup almost slipped out of my hand.
He took his, put it in the sink, washed it out then placed it in the drying rack while holding the telephone between his shoulder and his head. “Nothing serious, just stained the rug in the lounge.”
I gave myself a push back so that the chair spun on its back feet and I looked over to the rug next to the couch.
Shit, I'm in trouble!
I didn’t grasp the edge of the table in time, slipped back and fell off the chair with a great whack.
Vincent glanced at me. “No, Adele, your daughter has just fallen off of the chair because she is not capable of sitting up at the table. Are you all right, Giada?”
“I think so,” I grumbled, rubbing my back. By now, some extra bruises to add to those I had already had would make no difference.
“You're grown up now, don’t behave like a little girl.” He stepped over me with one stride, stopping in front of the rug. “No, she hasn’t hurt herself. Before that interruption, I was telling you that the rug is stained, it’s got a big mark of... chocolate. Giada spilt a whole mug... Of course, I told her off, but it’s my fault too, she didn’t expect me to ‘come in,’ I surprised her. That's why I want to replace it with a new rug... I insist, I feel partly responsible and I would really like to give you a gift since it’s not long till your anniversary. Don’t tell Aron, I don’t want him to give me a hard time.”
I got up and joined him in the lounge. His eyes were fixed on the dark red stain, in the middle of the rug with a dove grey pattern. More blood.
Once, I’d aspired to a text book loss of virginity with a sensational shedding of blood in honor of my sacrificed purity at the altar of “adolescent sexual loss.” Well, I was satisfied, enough to be ashamed of myself.
Vincent leaned over and put his hand on the wool. “You don’t have to thank me, Adele, I’ll do it gladly. Goodbye, say hi to the beast from me.”
And he hung up.
“Did you have to tell her that it was my fault?” I broke off.
“No, I could’ve said, Adele, your daughter has a very tight pussy and it gave good resistance when I penetrated it. It is clear that she has never used any toys.”
I blushed. He put his hand on my arse again. “But we will also see to that.”
“To the carpet or the toys?” I laughed.
“To both.” He gave me a pat. “Put something pretty on, I'm taking you shopping.”
“I was supposed to be going out with Zoe,” I remembered.
“I'm asking you a very simple, small question. Would you prefer to spend the rest of the day with your friends or come with me?”
With you.
To my amazement I didn’t even need to think about it. It was amazing how quickly Simon had been eclipsed by Vincent. Or maybe it hadn’t happened fast, but minute by minute, since before I’d met him.
“I'd rather come shopping,” I replied defeated, though I was choosing exactly what I wanted.
“Right answer.”
I didn’t know there was a wrong one.
Vincent rolled up the carpet to be thrown away and loaded it into the car while I was changing. I put a low-waisted dress on with three-quarter sleeves, gathered up by a soft drawstring that hung on my hips. I enjoyed being so slim with a perfect little teen body, my waist was even smaller than a standard ‘small’ size, but I hardly ever wore anything fitted. I tied my hair in two braids, as I often did.
Vincent looked me up and down, slid two fingers across my back to my shoulder blades and pinged the bra strap. “Do you mind taking it off?” the tone was one of a question, but it was not a question.
I blinked, waiting for a sign that would show he was joking, but it didn’t arrive, so I did as he wanted lowering the sleeves and pulling my bra out of the sleeve. I didn’t try, I didn’t even think for a moment to say ‘no,’ although I knew that I would have to find a way to use that syllable sooner or later.
I didn’t have very full breasts, in proportion with my minute frame, but he still seemed to appreciate them. He placed his thumb and index finger on the fabric of my dress rubbing the centre of a breast with his finger. I jolted, but let him do it, looking helplessly at the nipple that immediately poked through the cloth.
“One of the things I like about you youngsters is that you don’t worry about the force of gravity,” he said. “Your breasts didn’t move an inch without that useless garment. They carry on pointing upwards. Your body is insolent, it almost seems to be challenging me.”
I was offended and pleased at the same time. “It’s no longer my intention to provoke you.” Another lesson I’d learned at my own expense.
“Oh, but you do anyway.” He played with the other nipple until he was satisfied with how obvious they both were. “Now we can go.”
He took me out of the house in that state, uncomfortable, visibly excited. On one hand I was worried that someone might realize what had happened to us, while on the other I almost hoped they would. A voice in my head wanted to shout in the world: “I had sex with this man, isn’t that crazy?!”
Vincent took the driving seat of his PT Cruiser, parked that morning in front of my house. He set off once I’d done up my seat belt. His back relaxed, sticking to the seat, his arm holding the steering wheel leaning against the window, leaving his wrist at an angle of ninety degrees. The other hand was left abandoned on the gearstick when he wasn’t using it to turn the wheel. So much confidence in his movements, a gulf of experience and practice between us, on every front.
Zoe probably wouldn’t have liked him. She would’ve seen old age in lines of expression, in his hollow cheeks, in his hairy hands, his rugged face, in his dark body hair and thick beard. If she’d talked to him she would’ve baptized him as arrogant, obstinate and overbearing. I decided not to trust her at all for the moment and to keep the secret to myself. I would pretend, as I was already doing, that within me the world had not turned upside down. I wouldn’t shout, I wouldn’t jump for joy, I would not cry.
At the first recycling centre we dumped the carpet.
“I have to run an errand and then we’ll go and buy a new one,” he said, pushing it into the skip.
“Where?”
“There’s a specialist shop in the Latin Quarter, it’s always open.”
“All the way up there? Won’t it be a bit expensive?”
“I have no intention of going to a shopping centre on a Sunday morning. Anyway I have to run an errand not far from there.”
I shrugged. “It’s you that’s paying.”
The trip from the hills, passing through the Esquiline area to the centre, took about forty-five minutes during
which he looked at me out of the corner of his eye from time to time and I pretended not to notice. To break the silence I started playing with the radio looking for something decent to listen to. I went through all the FM fields back and forth.
“Can you choose a station and stick with it please?” He snapped, annoyed.
“Maybe this... or this...”
He grabbed my wrist. “Choose one and stop it.”
When he grabbed something, he did it decisively. He moved his fingers as if to check that the blood was still circulating.
“All right,” I said.
I tuned it in to ‘Radio Maria’ and left it there in the certainty that he would react.
Hoping he would react.
Praying that he would react.
For the remaining twenty-seven minutes of our trip we listened to the rosary.
“Aren’t you going to pray?” He invited me at a certain point, gazing at the road.
Trying to win a fight of wills against him was an arduous task that wouldn’t get me any prizes. His obstinacy was boundless.
But so was mine.
I began to repeat the Ave Maria in litany, I recited the whole rosary feeling a bit silly, yet he didn’t interrupt me and didn’t laugh.
“Carry on, I’ll be right back,” he said, once in town, parked on the edge of a sidewalk. He put the warning lights on. “Wait for me here.”
He rang the doorbell at a house ten steps from the car, I didn’t see who opened it because they were in the shade. They spoke and suddenly Vincent pulled a big envelope, about A5 out of his jacket. A graceful and feminine hand stretched from the darkness of the entrance hall, and was lit by the sun long enough to take the envelope. Something electric blue sparkled from the huge ring on her finger, so big it went right up to the knuckle, then the hand withdrew. Vincent stepped forward disappearing for a few moments in the lobby and shortly after he left smiling.
I’d already seen that kind of envelope, they usually contained his photographs. Did he do home delivery on Sundays?
“Who was that?” I asked when he got back in the car.
“Nobody. Nobody you know.”
“Is it a secret?”
“It's just something that has nothing to do with you. If you’d like to you can call it a secret. Haven’t you got any secrets with your friend Zoe?”
