Melanie Crawford.
Why is she here? Did I wish her here?
Am I still locked in one of my dreams about the girl with the honeydrop eyes and Goldilocks hair, that’s been my muse and my torture for six months now?
She’s laid out like some sort of offering next to my garden path, like she’s been dropped from heaven. Her bubblegum-pink lips are slightly parted, waiting for my kiss. Her slight body trembles in the way I’ve imagined a million times as I licked, fucked and fingered her to more orgasms than a human could process.
Her youthful curves call to me. The arch of her neck looks royal, as though she’s been trained to hold her head high. Majestic and childlike at the same time.
But what I see in her eyes is fear, not the heated fervor of lust I’d imagined for so long.
I’m not surprised. I’m a scary motherfucker, even on my best day. Size, shape, scars, attitude. There’s nothing soft or average about me. I don’t fit in.
I wonder for a moment, did she figure out my secret? Is she here to confront me?
“Why are you here?” I blurt a second time, harsher than intended. All I want is to gather her up into my arms and pull her into me.
Fuck. I’m not good at this.
My voice sounds like I’m training one of my dogs. They’ve been my only companions for the last ten years. Bear is my newest, plucked from death row at a shelter because he outgrew his previous owner’s expectations. He’s a work in progress, but everyone and everything deserves a second chance.
What I’m thinking about more is, he licked her. It’s irrational, but I’m insanely jealous of a dog because he tasted her before I did.
I clear my throat, trying to soften my words and push away the crazed focus on Bear’s tongue connecting with the creamy, ivory skin of her perfect face.
What are you doing here? No, still like an interrogation.
How can I help you? Fuck, I’ll sound like a secretary.
“I—I—” She stammers, her beautiful golden eyes on the verge of tears. Great, you terrified her, dick head. “Are you Vincent Weber? I’m here on a welfare check. Your brother asked me to look in on you.”
“Robert?” I bite back in surprise, then realize she’s still lying sprawled on the wet ground.
I step forward and shove my hand down, but the sudden move has her shrinking back like I might hurt her and it strikes a cold stab into my heart. I’m doing this all wrong, but I can’t leave her lying there. Grabbing her arm near the shoulder, I pull her skyward, harder than I should, her feet leaving the earth for a moment before I settle the fuck down and she winces on a hiss as I lower her back to terra firma.
“Ouch.”
“I’m not used to people,” I mutter as explanation. How long is it since I last talked to someone, beyond grunting out a list of supplies and handing over a fistful of cash?
“Yes, well, I kind of figured that out. Your dog frightened me. I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Bear?” I reach down and run my knuckles between his ears, and his eyes drift closed as he whimpers, droopy eyes and a string of drool streaming down from his lips. “He’s just a pup.”
“A—a pup? He’s as big as a small pony.”
“Seven months, already a hundred and sixty-pounds. Probably end up two-twenty or so. He’s big but he won’t hurt you. How did you hear from Robert?”
He’s not up for parole for another six months, so I know he hasn’t come out to Lewiston.
“He called us from the Otisville Correctional Facility, saying he was worried about your well-being. He asked us to check in on you. Apparently, you write him a lot of letters? He indicated not only had the letters slowed, then stopped, but before that they had become…” She pauses, choosing her words as she stares up at me and my hard-on seeps pre-cum on a throb. She bites her bottom lip, then finishes. “Well, he just said the letters before they stopped were out of character. He felt you may be sick, or hurt, becoming unstable…and he also said you don’t have much of any contact with the outside world.”
I know from the months of gathering information and watching her from behind trees and in the shadows, she’s a social worker, but never did I think I would finally come face-to-face with the subject of my obsession on an official visit.
I watch her hands glance over her shoulders, arms, hips, brushing off pine needles and leaves. Maybe making sure she’s not hurt from her fall, but the only thing pounding through my head down into my balls is…mine.
She’s mine. SHE’S MINE.
It’s not fair that her hands get to touch her, it’s not fair that her fingers should have all the fun. I almost step forward in my eagerness to take over, almost grab her wrists and jerk them away so I can run my own hands over her flesh, but I know I wouldn’t stop at checking for injuries.
I’d have her clothes off right here and now, I’d lay her down in the grass and fuck her until the earth is dented with the silhouette of her supple, young—too fucking young for a man like me—body.
And that’s not how civilized people should behave.
But, I’m not civilized.
My dry mouth hangs open as I watch her brush the thighs of her jeans, running my tongue along my parched lips as my gaze lingers where the legs of her pants end and her pussy begins, wishing I could rip them from her.
“He called in on the general intake line. I believe he spoke first to my supervisor, Raymond Mercer.” I curl my lips back when she mentions his name. “I’m Melanie Crawford, I’m with Adult Protective Services. Hold on, I’ve got a card.”
I watch her delicate little hands go to the satchel hanging over her shoulder, but shake my head.
“No need.” I know who the fuck you are, little girl. More than you could imagine. “Robert worries too much. Always did.”
I don’t tell her that the reason I haven’t sent a letter at all this last two weeks is because my obsession with her has pushed out every other thought. My mind has been tangled in a web of jealousy, fantasy and day-and-night dreams filled with her, to the point I can barely eat, sleep or shit.
“And you drove all the way up here?” I look around, confused for a moment about how she could have driven her car through the gate, unless she has some military vehicle or a hell of a pair of bolt cutters.
“Well, yes, as far as my car could take me. Then I walked probably a mile. So, I’m sort of a mess, the humidity today, geez. Anyway, there was a gate…with a sign.” She’s talking faster, her eyes flitting from me to the ground and her little fingers grip and release the strap on her satchel over and over. “The gate…it was locked…you know that though…so anyway, I squeezed through the opening…then, I got spooked with some of the carvings, then when your dog came out, I was already nervous then, well, you saw. I fell ass over teakettle and got a face wash from your dog. All in all, it’s been an interesting day so far.” She finally pauses for a quick breath, then exhales on a hmrph, her shoulders dropping as she gives me a tight smile. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. I’ll stop talking now.”
I can’t stifle the grin that pulls at my lips and the skin tightening on my scrotum as I watch her flustered. I like the blush on her face, the hesitation in her voice.
She could be enthralled or horrified. Could go either way. People see my face and look away…the scar, the crooked nose a forehead straight from pre-historic times…I’m no beauty queen.
Still, I wish I could take a video of her right now, at the moment our lives started together, brushing the almost-white hair nervously aside from her face, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure, while I’m absolutely sure.
This was meant to be. She will belong to me in ways I don’t even understand myself.
A video would be impossible though. I have an old Nikon camera with a few specialty lenses, and getting film for it these days is a difficult process. I have no cell phone, no internet, no video anything. So my memory will have to serve as the monument to the first time my future wife came face-to-face with her fut
ure husband.
“You want to come inside?” I grunt out, jerking my head toward the cabin as my guts knot into pretzels, and I see her glancing down where my dick is trying to punch through my Levi’s and shake her hand in introduction.
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to. Now that a welfare check has been set in motion, there are certain protocols. There are a few forms to fill in and a few questions, I need to see your living conditions. Nothing too invasive, just a cursory glance. I’ll also need to see some ID if you have some. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“I don’t.” She looks startled when my words shoot out like arrows. “I mean, I do not have any identification.”
I burned it all the day I left civilization and vowed never to return.
“Oh. Hmmm, that’s odd, but okay, well, that means I’ll have to do extra checks at the office and more than likely have to do a follow-up visit.” Score, I think to myself. For once, my oddities are working in my favor. Then, she finishes with, “Or… I could just leave now and do all of it tomorrow if that’s more convenient?”
“No,” I bark, shaking my head, my lips turning down. The thought of her leaving ignites a rage inside me even I wasn’t expecting. The words from the old Eagles song start playing in my head…Welcome to the Hotel California…you can check out anytime you like but you can never leave. “You can come in. Now.”
We step toward the entry and Bear looks at her, as mesmerized as I am, and I nearly growl at my canine friend, telling him to back the fuck off.
She’s mine.
“Okay, good. I mean, fine. Will—will Bear mind me coming inside?”
“He won’t hurt you.” I lean down to demonstrate, fussing between his ears and earning a groan of satisfaction. “He’s a good dog. You can touch him.”
“No, I…it’s fine.” She meets my eyes, searching for something. Confirmation? More permission? It doesn’t matter, I’m already counting the freckles over the bridge of her nose, memorizing their placement, watching the way her skin glistens with the light dusting of mist still hanging in the morning air. “You’re sure he won’t hurt me?”
“He won’t.” But I might, in the most wonderful ways.
She takes another nervous step forward, and all I can think about is pinning her down and ripping her clothes off, right out here in front of the house. I’ve jerked off so hard watching her silhouette through her bedroom window, I’ve practically pulled my cock right off. Now she’s here and I’m barely able to walk straight because my hard length is stuck down my pant leg.
“Are you okay?” she asks, drawing her brows together. “Are you limping?”
“I’m fine,” I grit out, struggling to adjust my dick without her noticing.
Thank God, Bear comes to the rescue, jumping up at her in excitement and she yelps, drawing back. I grab her wrist as she stumbles, losing her balance, leaning into my side on a panicked whimper.
“Calm,” I tell her, guiding her hand towards the dog’s head. Her wrist is so small, I could wrap my fingers around it twice, and her skin feels smooth against the rough callouses on my fingertips and palm, but she seems to gain confidence from me and lets out a light, ringing laugh when Bear groans in pleasure the second her fingers connect with his fur.
Melanie sighs with relief and meets my eyes, and I nod, trying to keep from leaning down and shoving my tongue into her mouth.
“He likes you,” I tell her. “Dogs can tell. Come on inside.”
She gives my hand a little tug where I’m gripping her wrist and I reluctantly unclasp my fingers and turn, clicking my tongue for Bear to follow. I have no doubt she’ll also do as I say, and sure enough I hear her footsteps on the stones coming behind.
“Dogs can tell what?”
“Good people. Bad people. They read energy like a tuning fork finding the right note. He says you’re good people.”
“Well, thank you, Bear.” She laughs again, and it’s like wind chimes on the breeze. I want to hear that sound until the day I take my last breath. “And are you a good person, Mr. Weber?”
“Not for me to say,” I answer. “Bear seems to think so.”
Opening the front door, I step inside the enormous, screened porch. It’s where the outside meets the inside, and it’s the room where I try to keep the two separated. In the corner I have some comfortable wooden furniture and a table where I like to eat.
On the other side is my outdoor shower I use when the weather permits, which isn’t much more than a hose tied to the roof with a drainage channel cut in the bare concrete floor. I kick off my shoes and drop them by the door that leads inside, then turn to meet Melanie’s eyes.
“Boots,” I grunt, and glance down. As her gaze follows mine, I notice it falter when it again encounters the beast down the leg of my pants. I’m not surprised. Since I saw her the first time, my cock’s been like an out-of-control toddler having a meltdown in the toy aisle when he can’t get what he wants. My voice is little more than a needy growl when I repeat myself. “Boots. Please.”
She seems to catch her breath, and at first I see confusion. Then she visibly straightens, regaining her composure. “Oh. Boots. Yes, of course.” She points to the corner. “Is—is that a shower?”
“Yes.”
“Outside?” She looks around, the wide-open screened windows of the porch would allow anyone to see but no one comes up here. It’s natural for me to wander around naked when I want, where I want.
I watch, mesmerized as she turns and leans down to untie her laces, giving me a perfect view of her round ass inside the tight khakis she’s wearing. It does nothing to help the dryness of my throat and mouth, as I try to tell myself to look away, but already knowing I can’t.
When she turns my way, I’m sure she must know I’ve been thinking about fucking her ripe, round ass. She should know what she does to me. The sooner we get the formalities out of the way, the sooner we can move on to what comes next.
“Yes, outside. No one can see. No one to see, I should say,” I grit. “Gets dirty out there,” I say, glancing at the garden. “I don’t like dirt in the house, so I shower a lot before I come back inside.”
She takes a long look at the shower again and I wonder if she’s imagining me naked. I hope so. “You could get up to anything out here and nobody would ever know…” For a second, she just stares, then with a sharp intake of breath she seems to come back to herself. “Well, it is a beautiful house. Sort of a log cabin palace.”
“Built it myself.”
“Log by log…?” She raises one eyebrow and I nod in confirmation. “That must have taken you years.”
“Ten years. I’m still not finished.”
“Oh, right, yes… Ten years. That’s what Lori… I mean, my friend Lorraine… She said you’d been living out here that long. Is it exactly ten years or…?” She frowns, as if something else has just struck her. “Did you carve all those animals out in the forest as well?”
I don’t mind her questions. I want her to get to know me. Because sooner or later, she’s going to be mine in the way that I want her. When that happens, I don’t want her to have doubts. I want her to give herself to me completely, everything she is and everything she will ever be.
“Ten years, two months,” I reply with a nod, remembering the day I walked away from my former life and retreated here.
Turning away, I snap my fingers at Bear and point to his cushioned dog bed, made of smaller logs matching the log walls of the house. Then I head through into the main entry with Melanie following, and feel a snap of electricity over my skin as she steps over the threshold.
She’s here. Finally. Where she belongs.
“You have a rare talent, Mr. Weber.”
“Vincent.”
“Right. Vincent. People would pay thousands for a wood carving like the ones in your forest. Do you sell them?”
“No. I don’t want their money. Through here.” I lead her through from the entrance hall to the living room and turn to meet her ey
es. I notice her gaze taking in the high ceiling and wide-open space, the shelves lined with books I either brought here with me or picked up at the thrift store in town. Leather furniture mixed with sturdy brown and beige fabrics because the natural tones calm me. Bright colors have always made me anxious. I still remember in elementary school, breaking all the crayons except the black, tan and brown while the other kids laughed and did what kids do to the one that doesn’t quite fit in. “Not what you were expecting?”
“You don’t have a TV?”
“No.”
I hate the noise, the buzz. My ears are as sensitive as my eyes. I want to tell her, but years of ridicule for the things that made me different linger and I don’t want her to think I’m a freak.
“Do you have electricity?”
I nod. “Solar. But I don’t like television. It’s a distraction.” I try to give her some truth without outing my oddities all at once.
“I feel the same way. My sister, Carrie, she was always telling me to get my nose out of books when I was growing up.” She smiles. “I loved Wuthering Heights. And Pride and Prejudice. My favorite when I was little was the Velveteen Rabbit. That started my love of reading. Of escaping into the words on a page.”
“Yes.” I close my eyes for a moment, remembering, letting the dancing words come into focus. “It doesn’t happen all at once…” I start, words filling my head like they always do. Once I’ve read something, I remember every letter, even when I’d rather not. “It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
I take a long breath; I could keep going. I could recite the entire book, but I don’t want to scare her. When I look back down, her eyes are circles of glowing gold wonder, and she looks like she’s been given a priceless gift.
“Wow,” is all she says, but her expression tells me so much more. I’ve touched her heart for the first time in a lifetime of more to come.
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