by Nate Allen
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CHAPTER 8
LOVE REMOVAL MACHINE
They say that we are most attracted to people who see us as we see ourselves, who see us as we want to be seen, and she did that for him, and he undeniably did that for her. He of course recognized it, but they had abruptly gone from getting together every opportunity they could, to an early off-season of sorts, entering into a period of torpor in their sexual activities with each other …that thing similar to hibernation, but not quite. He didn’t like it one bit, but what were his options? Exit stage right and surrender? He was incapable of doing so, bound up by the ropes that had grown out of their “No Strings Attached” beginning.
The lunch dates and drinks after work that began to take place all centered around some upcoming availability she was going to have and she was letting him know about it. However, it didn’t take long before he began to recognize that he wasn’t hearing from her either by phone or email in the time leading up to the occasion discussed, and then it had passed, with some bullshit story attached. It began to ire him, but the role provided proximity to her and he wouldn’t relinquish it, and if he became the source of that necessary flattery then he still had a value to her, and if he had a value to her …well he was a smart endearing guy, he’d figure something out.
In all fairness to Jake, at its onset she was as knee-deep in the shit as he was, they were both addicted to it, a crowd of two caught up in the mob effect the passion produced, only he wasn’t fighting it and she was. Her life and all that was at risk, more so than his, served as the walls of a prison that restrained them. But she was on the inside, and he was on the outside, free to do what he pleased, aside from intentionally breaking her out, still trying desperately to rationalize irrational behavior, to be a conscionable unconscionable man. In all fairness to her, the man was changing, not irreparably or permanently, but like a virus she had infected him. He was expected to be accepting of her marital situation, and while she would come to express an interest in his activities, she would have to be accepting of the fact he was single and free to do as he pleased …at least in theory. It would be an impediment to the natural emotional evolution of their relationship, aside from her marriage, and that freedom of his would become his enemy, his albatross, where she was concerned. Like a child who watches with envy as their friend gets invited to the cool kids’ table at lunch and can’t come along, she would begin to make new friends in an effort to prove she didn’t need him as much anymore. And she abruptly concluded that Jake had become a little too important for her own good, but he had sparked something inside her, and there would be no going back.
He couldn’t see her when he wanted, couldn’t call when he wanted, the emails were the only avenue he had to her head and heart, and it would be an ongoing offensive against the invisible competition, against the concerns and suspicions he imagined she had perhaps developed towards him. Alarmingly aware of his increasingly unhealthy behavior, but like some sexual clairvoyant, he sensed the presence of other unseen and unacknowledged playmates.
He would have simply been paranoid were it not for the fact they actually existed. In some cosmic flipflop, a cross-pollination of sorts occurred at this point in their affair, leaving each with remnants of the other, now she was going up and he was going down on that proverbial elevator. Just like a vaccine that introduces a small amount of a virus into the body to induce the body’s defenses to attack it, he would have the self-defeating effect of satisfying her needs to the point she would grow immune to his specific contributions.
It was the first instance perhaps of him pimping himself out on her behalf, an instance where the deed itself afforded him no immediate benefit, but it was an investment. A step towards what he sought, and like a hog rooting around in the slop looking for something delectable he would have to eat the shit first. He had been the type of kid with tears in his eyes that wouldn’t cry “uncle” to make it stop, and she would metaphorically damn near twist his arm off. But the kid had matured into a patient impatient man with an enormous tolerance for pain, and he would need it.
In nature, those who refuse, or are unable to adapt become extinct or useless, and while the notion didn’t sit well with him it was either that or concede his place in the rotation of her developing “roster.” So he would have to go into that “I can’t quit you babe, …so I’m gonna have to put you down for a while” mode, it was driving him crazy. And he needed to get laid. Their episodes had been characterized by very emotionally charged intense periods, and no matter what, he always walked away feeling like a stud horse kicking in his stall, and he derived a tangential benefit from them. Other women could sense a heightened level of confidence in the already quietly confident man. And it was time for him to cash in on those dividends with a gal or two he knew could conduct the transaction.
He had met Maureen and her roommate Lisette at the Crooked Creek Saloon, or the “Creek” as the locals called it. It was Raleigh’s largest nightclub, a meat market and if you couldn’t get lucky there …God help you. It was a club divided into theme sections, a country bar, a pool hall, a large contemporary dance section with DJ, and a smaller disco section. He had wandered through the place …as usual, scoping it out, doing his math, until he settled in the disco section. It was an area of the club he didn’t frequent often as he was more into the contemporary music than the retro-atmosphere of the disco section. But it was smaller, like a barrel of fish, and the women, surprisingly younger for the genre, on this evening outnumbered the men.
To be seen you had to join the game, and he asked a number of ladies to dance and was having a good time, when in between songs he was approached by an attractive long dark haired Hispanic woman, her name was Lisette, she told him that her friend Maureen wanted to dance with him, it seemed a bit odd, but perhaps Maureen was shy …not to be the case it would prove. But as luck would have it Lisette was the one he was more attracted to, don’t you hate it when that happens?
He would ask Lisette “What about you, would you like to dance?” “I’m spoken for,” she replied flashing a pawnshop engagement ring. He was in an ambiguous period in his life, and that was currently not an issue for him he thought to himself before he returned the words to her, “That’s okay, you’re spoken for and I’m talked about, we’d make a great couple.” She laughed unguardedly, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Her sassy New York Puerto Rican accent reminded him of the good-looking sister in Ugly Betty. Apparently she had accepted some soldier’s proposal before he left for overseas, she hadn’t seen him or any man in nine months, and she looked to be ripe. But Maureen was on the auction table, so “M” for Maureen it is he thought.
They were best friends from Brooklyn who had moved here a few years back, and worked as hairstylists at a salon that he didn’t really care to hear the details of. But before the night got too late, they escorted our friend to a doublewide out in the country near Holly Springs, forty minutes from the club. They got extremely comfortable, no need to mask intentions, the ladies now in t-shirts and underwear, Jake reduced to nothing but his unbuttoned jeans.
The women enjoyed a joint together, and asked Jake if he wished to partake, he would have gladly accepted in another time, but had sworn off it since the divorce, and his efforts at being a role-model to his soon to be middle-schooler. “I enjoy the altered states, but I prefer the southern ones,” he smiled, again Lisette abbreviating her laugh as Maureen appeared perturbed about the apparent chemistry between the two. He couldn’t help but notice Lisette had some big tits under her t-shirt, and she was squirming in her chair like a four year-old that needed to pee. She liked the sight of the man’s physique, and was reconsidering her position on the matter, but Maureen was taking note of everything and dismissed her to her bedroom like a child or a pet. She was apparently the alpha bitch …or she owned the trailer.
She and Jake had a couple of beers, relaxed a bit more, but it was now 2:00 a.m. and the man had been brought there for a purpose, and she was ready to put h
im to use. They would not retire to the privacy of the bedroom, probably because she wanted her girlfriend to hear what was going on as they crawled up on the couch. It was not the man’s best performance, he was not all that motivated, questioning himself all the while as to why he wasn’t coiled up with the other woman, but he needed to make a good enough showing to impress the audience as the door to Lisette’s bedroom was now cracked and he could see her in the dim light flipping through a magazine, but studying him instead. It was one of those occasions where Jake shot over par, a respectable outing, making certain as he rose the spectator got a good look at him in all his glory, as Maureen dragged him off to her bedroom to tell him all about herself before falling asleep.
He lay there in the small uncomfortable bed for a time before he got up intending to escape the light of day. He quietly exited Maureen’s room to find Lisette sitting in the den, no TV, no nothing, her finger posed in the corner of her mouth suggestively like some hooker in an Amsterdam brothel window, and like the Holly Springs tourist he was, he was going to have to pay her a visit. The forty-five year-old aroused at the sight of her, great refractory time he thought, impressed with himself.
She had small nipples for such huge breasts, the areola, the brown part, about the size of a quarter, and the nipple itself the size of a field pea, and they were incredibly sensitive, almost to the point she didn’t like them touched, as if it tickled too much. Pulling a page from the reference section of the aforementioned library, he gently wet them down and began to nibble on them like a mouse to cheese, trying not to trip the trap.
She wiggled and writhed like his dog rolling around on her back in the yard scratching her “itch” as he gave her his inches, and fed her well. She would announce her warm, moist arrival with that same sassy accent in …broken …incomplete …sentences, it was sexy, but Maureen’s appearance at the door declaring it was time to leave prematurely ruined the moment for Jake, who had not yet arrived. It was 4:25 a.m., he thought it rude and unfair, but she was tossing his clothes at him now, and it was apparently time to go …and he could take his hardon with him. Lisette put her business card in his back pocket as he left noticeably disappointed, but he would know how to get up with her, and tonight presented such an occasion. He would see her …absent Maureen, and they would enjoy each other’s company for an evening of much needed distraction, and finish the game of “twister” they had begun. Laura, Linda, …Lisette, “L” like a Lollipop had been good to the boy.
Aware that out of sight sometimes meant out of mind, and obsessed at the fact that others were barking up her tree as well, he continued to email Rae, in that “I’m shaking the bush boss,” way to let her know he was still out there and hankering to see her when possible. But she was busy developing outside interests …like Tony. Jake had confirmed some desirability she thought existed about her, and Tony looked like he saw it as well. He was a massage-therapist at the Country Club she belonged to, and she enjoyed a good pampering after her tennis, golf, or workout. He was in his late twenties, and had a reputation among some of the wives for providing “additional services” free of charge on occasion. He was always flirting with Rae, as his hands glided all over her body, she didn’t look like she had given birth to three children, and he told her so. He questioned why he never saw Mr. Johnston at the club, apparently his idea of physical activity was grading papers she replied. They had a natural physical chemistry, and he apparently understood discretion and she targeted him as a potential playmate. As she rolled from back to front, underneath the sheet, she asked him to rub out her thigh, tense from her workout, and she nearly left a wet spot when he touched it. This time when he would make a suggestive comment she would ask him if he was interested in getting a drink later, he could talk the talk, could he walk the walk.
Jake and Rae had met for a drink earlier in the week where she told him Glen would be a guest-speaker at a conference at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville that weekend, and if things went the way she hoped, she’d be available, wondered if he might be as well. But Jake was sensing a pattern developing, one in which she would halfheartedly feign an attempt at hiding the fact she had made other plans after he had properly nourished her ego. He told her he anticipated being free, as it was Rene’s weekend, but in the interim he got the dreaded call he had anticipated regarding his mother. Ann was fading fast, her body shutting down, not because of disease or trauma, but the simple accumulation of a difficult life’s mileage.
She had a curious look of anxiousness about her when he arrived, like a child’s first visit to the doctor, an understandable concern about the unknown. And like he had been with his father, he was there when she too passed. The child comforting the parent in one of life’s more ironic twists.
Both of his parents had now died in his arms, and he would not have traded anything for it. It was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in a sense that he knew they were not alone, that he had gotten to say goodbye, but a curse in the sense that it was undeniably painful to see the people who loved you most in the world leave it, and you. He felt alone, and would need the comfort of someone who cared about him, and after the necessary couple of notifications to those concerned, Rae Anne was the third person he called.
He desperately wanted to see her when the weekend finally came, and he got the call all right. She said Glen would not be going out of town. So he headed to Leon’s, but it wasn’t long before he had to satisfy that innate curiosity, and if curiosity killed the cat, it straight murdered the dawg. He would drive by her house and notice Glen had apparently purchased an antique muscle car, how unlike him. Or …someone else had gotten the call that he had hoped to. He drove to the shopping center and parked, then walked that half-mile walk to her house, navigating the landscape and terrain he was now familiar with. He admired the car in the driveway as he passed it, and then continued to the backyard where in his mental imbalance he thought to see if he could catch a glimpse of what was going on. He got an eyeful he would not soon forget …if possibly ever.
The lights were on in the den, the sheers drawn across the glass doors to the deck. And there they were, sitting on the couch watching TV like High School sweethearts. The guy seemed extremely interested in what was on TV …and she didn’t. This was her discretionary time, and she had other ideas in mind. She slid behind him and began massaging his shoulders, signaling her readiness and intentions. This was a service call, “Service is requested, assistance required aisle 5. I didn’t invite you here because you don’t have cable,” or something along those lines Jake thought to himself.
She removed her shirt, those beautiful breasts he was all too familiar with unleashed and lain on the man’s shoulders, yet the fella hardly seemed to notice …at first. She whispered something to him, turned the TV off, and the sexual wet work began.
As he watched, “casual sex” suddenly seemed like a peculiar combination of words, like “ice warm beer,” the words made unnatural neighbors. It’s the most intimate thing two humans can do, hardly casual, and yet we do it with the ease of animals, much as we in fact are, and Jake was far from an opponent of the practice… having made an art form and part-time career of it, building his atypical life around it. But if men are turnkey operations with the sexual act, he was finding himself to be as confounding as a Rubik’s Cube when it came to the emotions associated with this variation. Beyond that age of innocence and first loves, no man has any illusion that they are the first to have been with a woman, but most have some natural aversion to the idea of some other fella falling up in there after them if they have some feelings for the gal, and as unaccustomed as he was to the sensation …he felt it.
A woman has to allow a man inside her, and when that invitation is extended to someone else, it can eat at a lover’s psyche, confidence, and his stability, like a crippling blow to his emotional weak spot. Make no mistake, with rare exception, women are the givers, and men the recipients of sex, and it’s one thing to know there has been another recipient …and
quite another to actually be a witness to it, and as he watched another man get the “gift” that he felt should have been his, he was temporarily paralyzed by the unfamiliar commotion it produced of jealousy, anger …and disbelief. It was surreal.
Like one of those horror stories where the patient regains consciousness on the operating table but can’t move or tell anyone …Jake was having open-heart surgery, and she was not a surgeon… but a coroner instead, …a love removal machine in effect. He stood there in the darkness, not knowing whether to cry or touch himself at the sight of it all, like the singular audience to a live sex show, he couldn’t look away. Forget the unimportance of an historic timeline, but he imagined what it would have been like for Caesar to be stabbed to death while made to watch Marc Antony fuck Cleopatra… Et tu Rae? And then he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass backdoor …the image disturbingly unrecognizable, as if a stranger to himself.
When his feet finally began to move they carried him around to the driveway. The guy had a beautiful automobile, a midnight blue Pontiac GTO, dressed out, but the doors were unlocked, so he glanced inside the glove box for the registration. His name was Anthony Marcus Donelli …not quite Marc Antony, but too damn close for coincidence it seemed, as though a senate comprised of Destiny, Fate, and some guy named Anthony Marcus/Tony, were inadvertently killing him by “stabbing” Rae. All he could think was first things first, he was gonna have to Tonya Harding-style kneecap this bullshit, the unfamiliar sensation of it all producing a troubling and uncharacteristic reaction in the man, foreign and unlike him …prior to meeting her that is.
He walked back to the shopping center that housed a neighborhood pool hall among the other shops, etc., where he and Rae sometimes met. He would spend the next few hours there contemplating his next move until returning, armed with a juvenile plan in mind. In that period of time he had bounced around occupations as a younger man, he had worked for a time as an independent contractor for a satellite TV installer, he knew that there was a test-jack in the phone box on the side of the house, it was the first thing he had checked every time he got a service call about a customer unable to download pay-per-view, to make certain there wasn’t a problem with the phone line which lead to the satellite box.
