It was a painful reminder of the day that I found him in our dorm room, covered in blood and quite catatonic. I wondered what could possibly possess him to wear it over his tux on his wedding day. While I stood beside him and listened to the priest speak in Latin, I tried not to frown. But silently I wondered how long this union would last.
I knew Jack and the demons that stalked him. He was able to keep things together when his life was governed only by his own whims. But now he was faced with a union of two. I decided that he wouldn’t be able to hold this together, any more than he was able to manage his strangely diverted life. I stood there and supported him, for I was happy for my friend.
In my heart however, I knew it wouldn’t last.
Chapter 39
After the wedding, they left for a honeymoon on the Riviera and I went straight to the airport. Again, months passed without hearing a peep from Jack. But I knew he had other things to focus on, and I couldn’t blame him. If it were me, I wouldn’t let her out of bed.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his new bride. I fantasized about her constantly, and when I thought about her I didn’t think about Jack, for I envied him intensely for having her. I even thought about her when I masturbated. I don’t know why I obsessed so much, but maybe it was to keep my mind off other things.
I had sworn off women during those months because I was in pain. I didn’t want to meet anyone. Anastasia was a safe bet, because she would never be mine. And she was incredibly beautiful. She had that rare beauty that made most men do really stupid things. In many ways, she was like a piece of art.
No, the irony was not lost on me.
When Jack finally contacted me from abroad, I was relieved for the distraction. It was about five months after the wedding, and he called to let me know that he and his new wife were yachting off the coast of Cuba. He asked if that ‘special someone’ and I were interested in joining them for a week. I told him there was no ‘special someone,’ but I eagerly accepted. We made plans to hook up in Varadero.
After I got off the phone, I wondered why the Hell I had agreed to meet them. I mean, I was happy at the prospect of seeing him. But I had masturbated with her face and naked body in my mind. Could I really be in the same room with them and not desire her?
I decided to put that thought out of my head and left for Varadero three days after speaking with him. We met at the Melia Las Américas. The air blistered and the turquoise Caribbean flowed in a carefree dance as a soft warm wind blew over it like a lover showering its mate with kisses. Beautiful women in scanty bikinis adorned the beaches and the bars and I decided that I was wise to accept his invitation. This was a much-needed change of pace and helped to keep my mind off the demons which waited in Montreal. They would be there when I got back. It was time for me to relax.
I thought about Anastasia during the flight and chastised myself for it. But I couldn’t get that raven hair, those piercing brown eyes and her aquiline features out of my head. I told myself that it was just an infatuation, and reminded myself that she was married to Jack. I tried to leave it at that.
But I was disappointed when I met Jack at the hotel bar, for she was nowhere to be seen. He cavalierly informed me that she decided to stay on the yacht. We would join her there later for dinner and drinks. I was irritated, but I reminded myself that this unhealthy attraction was wrong.
I shook it off and turned my attention to Jack and his renewed diatribe. As always, he was like a kid on Christmas day regarding the house and his recent acquisitions.
“Look at this.” He arrived with a small bundle wrapped in soft cloth. After a drink and several minutes of catching up, he placed the object on the table and carefully unwrapped it. He removed the cloth to reveal the contents, then sat back and watched me, smiling like a circus clown. I knew it was something of great worth, but I was impressed by the statue, not its value.
It was a figurine carved out of a piece of sea-green jade. It portrayed a male and female reveling in their nakedness, in a sensuous act of luxurious carnal expression. The genitalia were detailed and joined in a way which I hadn’t previously attempted. I decided that the next time I had sex, I was going to try this.
The artisan had paid a great deal of attention to each muscle, each sinew, even the small beads of sweat were tiny expressions of ultimate pleasure. Definitely not the piece that a family man would display in his living room. The quality of the craftsmanship, the beauty that was carved into the jade and the inanimate motion that was brought to life in the statuette were enough to make me shudder with fantasies of the most sublime ecstasies.
“Wow.” It was all I could muster as I took a sip from my margarita and let a hot gust of wind pummel my face. As primal beats of Calypso music thumped in the distance, I suddenly became aware of an excess of perspiration on my face. I wondered if this was a result of the thoughts and ideas that this statue inspired. For they made me think of Anastasia.
“Jack, I’m impressed. You must have paid a mint for this. So tell me the story behind it. I know there must be one.” He chuckled.
“Nope. I paid 400 Pesos for it. And there’s no story. But it was hand-crafted by a local sculptor and it’s one-of-a-kind. What do you think?”
I was impressed.
“Art for art’s sake. I’m truly impressed, Jack. You never cease to amaze me.” I finished my margarita and as I signaled for two more, he smiled at me.
“Thank you. It would have meant more to me if you had shared this belief with me all along, but I’m beginning to understand that my passion is quite unique, and only the truly enlightened can comprehend. So,” he tipped his margarita at me and drained it, “cheers to old friends who realize new things about each other.” I sneered at him as I tipped my glass. It was a backhanded compliment, but a huge step for him nonetheless.
Later, we took a skiff out to the newlywed’s luxury yacht. It was quite beautiful and while I envied Jack’s ability to own such items, I was excited to share in the lavishness. Of course, I also looked forward to seeing Anastasia. And my eyes weren’t disappointed.
As we sat at the bow of the ship talking, laughing and drinking, she appeared wearing a string bikini. Far more enticing than in a wedding dress, her voluptuous body caused me to cease all activity that didn’t have to do with staring.
Her near-nakedness caused me to get really hard and I crossed my legs. I felt a little guilty while I watched her ass – nude but for a piece of string riding up the crack. When she turned toward me, small patches of material – flimsily held together by strings – barely covered her breasts and Goddammit.
Her nipples were pert and jutted like two erasers through the thin material, and I could make out the definition of her lips beneath the small triangular patch that covered her crotch. They appeared to be full and juicy, and I silently longed to be that piece of material.
She seemed gracious enough. She approached me and pressed her body to mine. But I could swear that, when her hand brushed against my rigid penis, it wasn’t unintentional. As her erect nipples pressed into my chest, she placed a kiss on either cheek. I nearly melted when I felt her warm, soft lips make contact with my skin. It brought back memories of Lexi.
She was in a foul mood however, and my spell was quickly broken. When I met her in Italy she was a bride-to-be and quite radiant. Now however, it was obvious that she was a selfish, spoiled bitch. Jack didn’t seem to care though, and we chatted while she lounged on a nearby deck chair.
She didn’t say much unless it was to browbeat Jack about something, usually insignificant. Occasionally, she would yell at the servants because her drink had too much ice, or not enough ice, or tasted like “putrid crap.” Her mastery of the English language through a thick Italian accent seemed to have found its sweet spot in the use of foul, guttural phrases. I eventually tuned her out – Jack must have done so a long time ago – but took pleasure in watching her with her legs spread wide open. Not a ladylike posture, but she was no lady.
Dinne
r was perhaps the most uncomfortable two hours I’ve ever spent. Each course was characterized by more abuse from Anastasia and flippant responses from Jack. His carefree responses only infuriated her more, and by the time dessert arrived, I was sure that she was ready to attack him with a fork.
But he smiled sarcastically. As if trying to make the point that she drove him to drink, he dispensed with the wine in lieu of brandy. As a matter of fact, we all drank an excessive amount of wines, Scotch and brandy. But while she was getting drunker and more vociferous, he became more lively. He threw back drink after drink, and joked with me while virtually ignoring her.
But something changed in him after dessert was removed. We retired to the lounge at the bow of the ship. As we sat there, a dark cloud quickly blew in over his mood. It was sudden and took me totally unawares. It resulted in Jack jumping up from a lounge chair and storming out of the room, yelling profanities which hung in the air long after he left.
Anastasia hurled a crystal brandy snifter after him and laughed when it shattered against a wall. She sniffed in indifference and sullenly watched, as the servants scurried to clean the broken glass while simultaneously serving her another brandy. Apparently, they were accustomed to this ritual.
They left as quickly as they had appeared, and the two of us were left in the lounge. Only two feet and the valley of my drunken, pent-up sexual frustration hung between us. She still wore the string bikini, along with a transparent silk frock wrapped loosely around her shoulders.
Her legs swayed open and closed as she watched me and sipped on her new drink. I couldn’t help but notice that the triangular patch, which barely covered her womanhood earlier, no longer fully-covered her genitalia. I sighed and reminded myself: no matter how unholy this marriage was, they were in fact married.
That argument of course, held no weight with my cock, which stood quite erect. And it became clear that she admired my genitalia while I admired hers. She took another drink from her new brandy, got up from her chair, and sat down beside me.
Unsuccessfully, I had been trying to retain what composure I had left. Considering that I sat there with a raging hard-on poking through my shorts, it wasn’t much. When she came over and sat with me on the couch, I shook my head and silently repeated the words: Jack’s wife, Jack’s wife. Although inebriated, I was alert to the opportunity set before me. She peered at me through sultry, come-hither eyes.
“He's gone mad. Did you see him through dinner?” I never had an Italian woman, and her accent was driving me nuts. My dick bounced up and down, as if agreeing with her. The head tried desperately to break free from its fabric prison. Despite its true desire, I seriously thought about getting up and returning to my cabin so I could take care of the problem and go to sleep. But we simply nodded in affirmation of her statement and remained silent. She swayed, as if keeping rhythm with the boat.
“Do you know that he and I have not made love for three months? All he wants to talk about is that God-Damned house.” Although I showed no emotion at this, she nodded as if I had just agreed with her and told her that it was well within her rights to find gratification elsewhere.
“He just sits in his room and stares at that fucking statue.”
I perked up. The statue? The one he showed me years before and then refused to talk about again? I took another gulp of brandy and realized that my hand was on my right thigh. This wouldn’t have been a remarkable observation, but since her soft hand rested on top of mine, it was probably worth noting.
She moved my hand back and forth on my thigh as my erection bulged through my pants. I helplessly sat there while she rubbed my knuckles with her palm, but I squirmed when she lifted my hand and slowly moved it to her crotch. She began to rub it up and down.
I closed my eyes and lost myself for a moment as I felt her warm, soft lips. She pushed my fingers down with her own, and my index finger slipped between her lips. I moaned involuntarily as I felt the warm, moist slithering sensation of her arousal. She rubbed my hand a little faster and pushed my finger in deeper. Now she moaned, ever so softly, and her beautiful hair flowed around shapely shoulders.
I thought for sure I was going to blow my load right there. I wanted her to touch me. I wanted to stroke her clit and finger-fuck her. But suddenly, I found uncharacteristically superhuman strength, and I pulled my hand away in a sudden jerking motion.
She looked shocked, and I must have had a dumb, wide-eyed look on my face as she backed away from me and stood up. Her crotch was even with my face, and I could smell her musky scent. My hard-on throbbed like a heart during climax.
She laughed. Softly and sneeringly.
“You are not a fucking man. You are an impotent pig, just like that fucking friend of yours. Perhaps one of the servants can pleasure me.” She spat on the floor and turned, walking away unsteadily. I watched her beautiful ass bob as she strode to the main deck.
After she was gone, I sighed and closed my eyes. My head fell backward, as if my throat had been slit right to the spinal cord. I sat and waited. Waited for the hot throbbing between my legs to subside. I cursed aloud. I cursed her. I cursed myself. I cursed him.
“Dammit!”
After a few minutes however, my head shot upright when I remembered her words. He just sits in his room and stares at that fucking statue.
I stumbled out of my chair and went in search of Jack. I figured it was a safe bet that he wouldn’t be in his cabin – their cabin – so I stumbled to his study at the aft of the ship. I quietly crept through the corridors until I grew close. The door was slightly open and a small sliver of light tried vainly to bathe the dark hallway. As I teetered in the darkness, I deliberated knocking and entering.
I was going to do just that when I heard him talking to someone. At first I thought it might be her, so I cautiously peered through the crack of the door to see what he was doing. His voice, slurred by alcohol, spoke longingly and lovingly.
“Ay, my beauty, you will be my one and only, as soon as I can get rid of her. What...you want companionship? Of course! I'm going to give you all the companionship you desire. We'll find our paradise together. Won't we?”
To say the least, what I saw was disconcerting. As I peered through the crack in the door, I saw Jack. He sat with his back toward me and he was leaning over something. When he moved to grab a decanter off the table, I saw his small black statue. The unicorn and the maiden.
From a distance, I couldn’t make out much detail, but the overall shape reminded me of the craftsmanship that made me feel something for a woman who was long-dead – or perhaps who had never lived. In spite of myself I sighed, but caught my breath when I realized that it was audible. I remembered that day in Montreal, and I remembered his words.
Easy, mate. This can only be touched by me.
I frowned. This was strange, and I had enough alcohol coursing through my blood to remind me that my thoughts were too clouded for proper reason. I swayed back and forth in the darkness and decided that this night was best-ended.
So I carefully retreated and retired to my room, all the while contemplating what I had just witnessed. I never believed that Jack would stick to this hobby, but he continually proved me wrong. His affirmation of art appreciation earlier in the day quashed the notion that this was just a rich-boy fad.
I wondered why. Everything else in his life had been dynamic, ever-changing and frivolous. So why should something as insignificant as the acquisition of fine art be any different? Granted, the statuette of the unicorn was entrancing, and the maiden’s image was intoxicating. But Jack had been with some of the most beautiful women in the world. He didn’t need a fictional woman. He got the real thing whenever he wanted.
As I wandered back to my cabin, I recalled the curious conversation that I overheard just before I watched him humping the love of my life against a shower stall.
Is there a risk that he might become more violent?
He tried to kill him! Perhaps it’s time to have him committed.
This would destroy us all…
When I lay down on my bed, I jerked off until I came in an incredibly writhing orgasm. It only took a minute or two, and when I came, it shot out with such force and unusual quantity that I lay there, panting heavily and drained of all energy and seminal fluid.
I held my fingers under my nose. While I drifted into a deep sleep, I sniffed them longingly, taking in every sweet molecule of her musky scent.
Chapter 40
I awoke early the next day and masturbated again before showering. It helped my hangover and I wanted to smell her one last time before I washed her away forever.
Dressing quickly, I thought about how uncomfortable breakfast was going to be. But I was famished, so I went in search of the galley. Jack was already there, drinking coffee and staring at a cup of yogurt and a plate of fresh fruit. They appeared untouched, and an imploring look was enough for him to shove them toward me while the waiter took my order.
While I attacked the fruit plate, Jack laughed and joked and made no mention of the previous night’s events. Or his wife. He talked about the house and told me that it was coming along nicely. He explained that it required were very specific materials that took time to acquire. Most were custom-ordered and not always easy to procure.
I also learned that Astrid’s involvement in the house hadn’t ended with the blueprints. Jack had signed a binding contract with her for the specific usage of certain materials.
For instance, wood for the floors was ordered from Africa. It was a special type of teak that could only be found on the Ivory Coast. The stone for the façade was a unique pink granite found only in the Côtes d’Armor in Brittany. And marble fixtures were custom-crafted in Carrara, Italy. The list went on and on, and I stuffed chunks of grapefruit into my mouth while Jack lectured me on custom-made or difficult-to-get items from every corner of the world.
The House that Jack Built Page 26
