The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  “I do not understand, but this discourse appears to have disturbed everyone in the family,” whispered Catherine. Wilson opened the door to her room. “This is an important issue for us Americans. I will explain tomorrow. You deserve your rest.” He kissed her with an ardor that she had never felt from him before and he left quickly. She would not see Wilson until the next evening.

  She slipped into bed, she felt so tired, yet she could not find sleep. The family had been so cordial but her heart remained unsettled about her feelings for Wilson. He was attentive to her needs, but somehow she felt no passion in his heart. Was it that she was blinded by her past and could not forget Marcel? Was it that she was given to feel passion only once and only with the man of her dreams? She felt that she was doomed. She would be lonely all her life, in the sole companionship of memories. Catherine did not feel very good that night, yet she finally fell asleep.

  In the morning, she sat in the old car with Guamma and Flora on the way to the fair. All day long, she was introduced to people. She could not believe that the family knew so many people. She had already forgotten all the names. She enjoyed the exhibitions and festivities. She stood with Flora when she received an award for the best fruit jelly preserves. By evening, she began to wonder why Wilson had not joined them. She still did not dare ask of his whereabouts. After dinner, they entered the dance hall. She saw all the young women sitting along the far wall in their best dresses, while the men stood conversing on the other side of the room. The music started. She found the rhythmic mood of country music quite pleasant. Catherine sat for a while with Flora. Her friend confessed that she was quite attracted by a young red-headed man standing across the floor. At first sight, Catherine thought the pockmarks on his face were a bit repulsive. She smiled in encouragement when Flora was pulled to the dance floor by the man she dubbed Pockmark.

  She was standing alone in the dance hall when she noticed a group of people in an animated discussion. In the middle stood Wilson, who appeared agitated as he addressed the party. He noticed Catherine approaching. He stopped his discourse, moved in her direction and turned to the group. “Meet Catherine, the wonderful and beautiful woman I was blessed to meet in Morocco,” he told his audience. The men came forward to shake Catherine’s hand, complimenting her on her beauty and charm. The women, more reserved, kept smiling at her from a distance. She felt darts coming in her direction.

  Wilson stepped in, “Carol, this is Catherine.” He turned to the group, “I must join the family and dance with my fiancée.” Catherine was shocked, Wilson never formally asked for her hand in marriage. Catherine noticed Carol standing, staring at her in frozen animation. She could feel the anger on her face. A tall young man she did not remember by name, said: “Do not forget, Wilson. This is serious business. Yesterday the FBI was questioning the neighborhood.” Wilson turning away said, “We will tend to this matter tomorrow.”

  They danced the night away. Catherine stayed close to Wilson. While she was perplexed by the events of the day, she did not raise concern and did not reveal her apprehensions. She giggled when he insisted on carrying her up the stairs to her room, fearing that he would drop her. She let him kiss her and for the first time she felt that his kiss was truly passionate. He left without a word and she dropped on the bed and fell asleep.

  When she woke up the next morning, she was surprised to find herself fully dressed. Then, it came back to her that Wilson had introduced her as his fiancée. Flora took her away from her thoughts. “We have to go to church at eleven. My God, Catherine! You did not undress. Let me help fix this mess, we have to be downstairs in thirty minutes.”

  Wilson held her hand and they sat through the Sunday service. She could not help it when her eyes would glance at him. She was beginning to find his tall, manly stance more and more attractive. She found his musky odor quite appealing. By the time they were to leave the church hand in hand, she felt quite proud and impressed to be his fiancée. The sun came glaring through the clouds blurring their exit through the church door. The minister was waiting to congratulate the couple. “Mademoiselle, I am honored to salute your exquisite charm and beauty.” After taking Wilson's extended hand, he continued, “Wilson, I am pleased to see you so happy. I hope to be the one to unite your destinies. Our little church will rejoice with your family and friends.” Guamma and Flora, standing back, were blushing with pride.

  “Let us walk home,” Wilson suggested, waiving Grandpa away. Catherine walked proudly past the family and they turned toward the road and back to the farm. She grabbed Wilson’s arm, she was feeling so warm inside… but then also so weak. She fainted. She was floating in sunlight and she was surrounded by a strange gathering of animals. A beautiful white stallion bowed at her, a monkey smiled, a cat moved languorously toward her and a crimson bird sang her name. “Wake up Catherine!” She came to in Wilson’s arms. He was crying with joy. “Oh my darling,” she whispered in a faint voice, “I am so proud to be your fiancée.”

  On the way home, they took a path through the field. Wilson pulled her to sit on an old log. “Catherine, I dearly want to marry you, but first I must tell you about myself, about my past, then let you decide of our future.” Catherine was surprised by the sudden sadness that came over his face. He went on. “Before the war, when I attended university, I became quite involved in student activities. I was elected president of the university Communist party. I became a journalist for the USA Communist Party newspapers, the Social Challenge and the People’s Voice. I did not promote anything controversial. My goal was to extend justice to all layers of the American society. Then came the war and I joined military service. I was assigned to military communication. After many missions as a war reporter, I was sent to Morocco to monitor German activities. In the last months of my stay in Morocco, I was warned of our new president’s hard line against Communism. Powerful friends of my family convinced me to remain in Morocco a little longer. They estimated the wind of post-war paranoia would fade. Last spring I received word that I could come home safely. Then, soon after my arrival, we heard of this arriviste, Senator McCarthy, who had chosen the Communist paranoia as a platform to lift himself to power. Last night, after McCarthy’s television appearance, I was reunited with my old university team. We have very powerful protectors, as I said before. It was decided to evacuate our group outside of the country. I suggested to be moved to France in order to be with you. I was offered important commercial agencies that should allow us to build a family and provide for our needs. We will have to leave tomorrow.”

  Catherine was listening to Wilson, but his words were unimportant. She felt a strong impulse to be closer to him. Her heart had erased her doubts and resolved that she would be with him. They were coming in sight of the farm.

  They left the following morning. The big car sped ahead. “Do not worry!” said Grandpa, driving proudly, “I will get you to the airport on time.” She felt Wilson press her hand. She saw him focusing on a caravan of unmarked black cars entering the driveway of a neighboring farm. “Blasted FBI,” shouted Grandpa, “One would assume their job is to protect honest people, not terrorize them, without reason.” Catherine felt a pinch in her stomach. She recalled the Gestapo caravan passing in front of the house in Bergerac. For an instant, she was reliving the fear that she had experienced when the ominous black Gestapo limousine stopped her on her way to Brantôme on her bicycle. Wilson saw the fear in her eyes and said, “Do not worry my sweetheart, we will be safe soon.”

  They arrived at the Kansas City Airport. Catherine experienced déjà vu as the whole family, brothers, sisters, cousins alike, all stood hugging, cheering and blowing kisses. Catherine repeated to Guamma that her family was preparing the wedding festivities. They would be together in France in four months. Victor and Mamie had resolved to give them their house, as a wedding present. Until then, the foursome would live together and attend to the wedding preparations.

  From Paris they took the train to Bergerac. Wilson began explaining to Cathe
rine the businesses that they would be initiating in France. Post-war veteran support offered education, financial and business privileges. Wilson was offered two exclusive licenses one to distribute Revlon beauty products and the second to sell John Deere Construction Equipment. Both product lines had been established successfully in pre-war America and would become interesting business platforms for the couple in France.

  “Your teaching skills will be most important to develop effective representation for the Revlon products in France. For myself, I will devote my time to the more technical features of the construction equipment.”

  Marriage and Separation

  Victor and Mamie Hélène were standing nervously when the train entered the Bergerac station. They were so eager to see their little girl that they had been at the station for over two hours. “You know Victor,” said Mamie Hélène, “She may have changed. It has been such a long time, I hope that we will recognize our little Catherine.” Victor had a grin on his face, “Come Mamie, will you always worry for nothing? Catherine was a grown woman, fully developed, when she left two years ago, I bet that she has not changed at all.” Victor was thinking of last night’s conversation, before they fell asleep.

  Through the parting crowd, Victor finally saw her emerging down the steps. Her pretty face was radiating like the sun. Victor pulled Mamie and they ran in her direction. They grabbed Catherine in a passionate hug and the three hugged for a long time without saying a word. Victor had tears coming down his face. He realized that Wilson was left alone at their side, taking in their emotions. He pulled away from the women and extending his arms, he grabbed the tall man’s hand in his. “Welcome home, my only son!” They were standing in a circle, silent, looking at each other. Wilson took Mamie and Victors’ hands in his, “I am so honored to meet you. Catherine told me so much about you and your heroics during the war. I want to thank you for protecting and saving so many of my compatriots. It will be a pleasure to get to know you better.” Mamie Hélène was charmed by the young man presence. Strangely, Wilson would always make her feel special.

  They had settled in her parents’ house, a beautiful French equivalent to a Victorian mansion. It stood on a quiet street, with a large yard, opening toward the Dordogne River. Victor had insisted “You will move to the master bedroom on the first floor. Mamie and I will sleep upstairs in the guest room. The house is our gift to your love. We will move out as soon as our other home becomes available. We wish you all the happiness in the universe.” Secretly, he whispered in Wilson’s ear, “We cannot wait until the happy sounds of children’s voices awaken these ancestral walls from too long a sleep.” Catherine and Wilson were not allowed to open their mouths, no objections would even be considered.

  A few months later, Catherine sat at her desk. Her office was well appointed, taking advantage of the space of the large warehouse. Four months earlier, following the wedding at St. Catherine, she had rented a vacant warehouse, just up the street from their residence. She knitted her new associates into a solid team. They had cleaned and painted the place. Victor had provided the furniture and furnishings, in time for the first shipment from America. That same day, she began to teach to the group of twelve the art and skills of organizing sales parties in the households of potential clients; a technique developed in America during the pre-war years with great success.

  All the team members could not hide their excitement when they opened the boxes of the first shipment eyeing, touching and even smelling the merchandise. “Catherine, you are the spearhead of our hope for a European expansion,” the president of Revlon had told her during a recent visit.

  It was quite late in the evening. Catherine had expected Wilson to arrive from his office and join her for dinner. For a few weeks, she had been feeling strange vibrations about their relationship. The marriage ceremony had been quite a joyous event, ignited by the loud exuberance of the American family. They had overpowered the more discreet and less expansive local guests. She had agreed with Wilson to postpone the honeymoon. The new business ventures required their presence. They had arrived at the house in the early morning hours and Wilson made love to her without a word. She had dreamt in expectation of that moment, but it left her disappointed and deeply confused. She attempted to convince herself that the future would be better.

  Tonight, while waiting for him, she was tormented by the thought that she’d never felt really close to him after they left America. Their hearts did not touch and vibrate at the same rate. As far back as their courting in Morocco, part of her soul worried that there was a void separating them. Burying her instinct, she was propelled towards his masculinity. She did not especially desire him sexually, but she needed the comforting maleness that he permeated. For a long time, she was captured by the feeling of loneliness afflicting her soul. At that moment, she did not care to share her wonderful news with him. She was expecting their first child. She was rocked gently at the thought of this little being that was growing in her womb and she felt good again. Much later, she had been in bed for some time, when he crawled in and, without a word, he fell asleep, so far away from her heart.

  They went their separate ways, building and developing their business. In the early years, he was quite successful at expanding his construction equipment operation. Before the end of their first year, he had acquired sports cars, and after taking endless flying lessons, he bought his first plane. He spent more and more time away with his friends. Catherine, for her part, was busy developing her beauty product business. She had already hired and trained more than one hundred sales representatives and her market was sprawling over the entire south west quadrant of the country.

  But Catherine and Wilson were growing farther and farther apart.

  Justine, the reincarnation of Jhustis

  It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, Catherine was chasing her two-year-old daughter Mimi in the garden. Wilson arrived in the driveway at the wheel of “Flèche Bleu”, a sparkling baby blue Peugeot convertible. Mamie and Victor were sitting proudly on the rear seat. “Good afternoon, gorgeous!” Wilson said. “We are coming in to enjoy a great American BBQ of my specialty.” Catherine and Wilson never addressed each other except for essentials. They were consciously avoiding each other’s presence in the course of the day and for some time they slept in separate quarters at night. In Mamie and Pappy’s presence however, Wilson would perform every chapter and verse of the loving-couple act. “A great relief!” Catherine reminded herself, holding her parents in an embrace.

  Wilson left for the kitchen to fetch large T-bone steaks. He had taken care to instruct the French butcher to prepare the special American cut for the occasion. Catherine was happy for this sudden family reunion. Even Wilson appeared quite attractive in his new panama suit. They went on drinking champagne. Wilson started the rarely used charcoal BBQ, to demonstrate his cooking skills. Victor came in from the basement saying, “We must have a good red for this quality of venison.” They shared a wonderful time and a bottle of Chambertin 1954.

  Somewhere behind the clouds, Osiris from the high hills of Brassac was watching with apprehension as he incanted a powerful spell that moved like fog toward Bergerac. Wilson was returning from the garage after driving his in-laws back home. He was still wondering about the dark cloud of mist that engulfed his car on the way home. He walked up the stairs toward his private living quarters, when from the corner of his eye, he saw in the wall mirror an unusual reflection. He had the vivid impression of a presence, other than his own image, reflecting from the large mirror. He stopped and looked again, rubbing his eyes, but he only saw his image staring back. “Handsome stud!” he thought, grinning at his face. He noticed the bulge that was forcing its way in the crutch of his pants. “My God! What is happening to me?” Driven by an irresistible force, he saw himself helplessly drawn down the stairs. He entered the kitchen and removed the dishcloth from Catherine’s hands. He dragged her toward the living room, pushed her over the couch and stripped her of her clothes. He pulled h
is penis out of his pants and, holding Catherine on all fours, he began to pound at her anus. “You bitch! You are going to get it!” He kept pounding her with all the frustration accumulated by the years of envy and anger. His pleasure arrived quickly. He pulled from her. He could see, on his still erect penis, the bloody witness of his assault. Before he had time to move away, Catherine grabbed his penis and with an unusual burst of energy, she forced his bulk back on the couch. She lurched over him and captured his still erect organ inside her pussy. She began a wild assault of his crotch. Within a few minutes Wilson, surprised by such fury, ejaculated for a second time.

  Thunder and lightning were igniting the large bay window, but Catherine kept him pinned to the couch, maintaining her furious aggression. His semen was pressed inside her. He finally succeeded to push her aside on the couch and without a word, he left the room. In the sky parting the dark clouds over the house, Horus was raging, following the scene.

  She did not take her pleasure in the copulation, but in some way, she felt so fulfilled and peaceful. Catherine lay on the couch, dreaming a strange dream. She was sitting on a white horse, a monkey on her shoulder, a cat was rubbing on her womb and a crimson bird was singing, circling overhead. The skies opened above her and the sunlight peeked through the clouds. A man was standing crowned in the light and a woman was pressing her body on his side, holding a beautiful baby with eyes as blue as the ocean, waving hair as blond as fields of wheat and a glowing softness of skin, as fine as a caressing peachy mousse. They were smiling at her.