Geneva – 11

(Continued from Geneva – 10)

He stepped into the open door of the workshop as the PT Cruiser drove past. Chelsea, in the passenger seat, was looking away and Brittany was pointedly facing straight ahead steering with her right hand flipping him the bird as firmly as possible with her left. His grin was hard enough to cut stone.

Gennie came running out the door and down the steps before the car had left the yard. She hit the workshop breathless.

“I’m SO SORRY!” she cried wiping at the tears that seemed to run unbidden down her face. “I didn’t mean to invite them over-I REALLY DIDN’T! Brittany just kept calling and calling and telling me I was kidnapped…brainwashed…She was killing me!”

“What do you care what she said or what she has to say?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know…but it was just going on and on for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it if it was bothering you that much?”

“I didn’t want it to be your problem.”

“Those girls in my house are certainly my problem. How did that happen?”

“I…I finally just told her she would quit about all that if she came to see us…How we were together. And one thing led to another.”

“And you invited her up. Sent her the GPS and brought her to my living room.”

“Please don’t make me leave. When you asked if I was packed I thought you were going to make me leave with them. I almost had a heart attack. Please, please don’t let me fuck this up.”

Moved, he stepped to her and wrapped her in his arms pulling her teary face into his chest. “You made a mistake. We’ll work it out. Your place is here as long as you want it to be.” She calmed down at that and hugged him hard. He held on as long as she wanted, then let her pull slightly back.

“That other thing, you said”, she said.

“Which?”

“The spanking. You’re not really going to spank me are you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She searched his eyes looking for the joke. “That’s not…I mean…”

“My house, my rules”, he stated simply.

She backed away from him and moved toward the door. She needed more air-was having trouble breathing.

“But what if I don’t want you to?”

“You lost that choice when you disobeyed me.”

“But I didn’t know that you would…we never talked about spanking!”

“Would that have changed what you did? Do I have to lay out the penalties for disobeying me-for breaking rules that we agreed on?”

“We never talked about this.” She shook her head. “This isn’t normal.”

“So I’ve heard. But again, my house my rules.”

Surprising them both she stomped the ground. “You realize I’m an adult don’t you?”

“She said, while stomping her foot”, he said modulating and remaining calm.

“I don’t want this! What if I just say no?”

“They’re probably not far down the road. They’d be happy to take you home with them.”

“I AM HOME!” She stomped again then half turned with her hands across her chest. Her eyes were leaking again but there was a tiny flame of defiance glowing in them along with something else. Suddenly unsure in the battle of words, he decided to disengage and get on with it. As she watched, he grabbed a stout wooden chair from the shadows with one hand and placed it determinedly between them in the sunshine. He sat on it-hands on his thighs.

“Get over here.”

She wanted to stop crying, but the tears continued to roll unabated. She stole a glance toward the house as if considering an escape. She wanted to be able to take a deep breath. She wanted to swallow. She wanted her knees to stop shaking. She wanted to turn her back on him and walk away. Instead, she did the last thing she thought she wanted to do. She turned and walked toward him.

(To be continued…)

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Geneva – 10

 

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Storm clouds rolling in…

(Continued from Geneva – 9)

“I’m not going anywhere”, she said strongly.

“Good”, he turned on Brittany again. “She’s been into town since she been here. Has free access to my car and truck. Maybe you can ask her why she never stopped by to see you. Or made sure you weren’t home when we stopped to get her things.” Brittany stared darts at Gennie. “She wouldn’t see you at your place but was happy to invite you here behind my back. Right Geneva?”

Geneva had no answer. Just stared at the floor.

“No. Not silence. I want to check-to verify-that I have this down. Is what I said correct?”

With every word he spoke to her in this new stern voice she seemed to press further back into the couch cushion. “Yes”, she said in a small voice. “That is…the way it happened.”

“You let him talk to you this way? Is this the way he talks to you?”

“Go ahead Geneva, tell her. Is this the way I normally speak to you? Tell her.”

Geneva, trying to stay out of the line of fire as much as possible just said, “No.”

“No”, he verified. “I’m speaking to her this way because this is the first time that she did something I specifically asked her not to do.”

“He speaks to you like he owns you!” she spat.

“Brittany, please don’t make it worse than it already is.”

“I just want to understand what you’ve gotten yourself into here.”

“What she got herself into was all about getting away from you.” Out of the corner of his eyes he swore that Chelsea dropped her head to hide a quick smile. “And the last couple of weeks have been good. At least for me. Have they been good for you Geneva?”

“Yes”, she said wishing he would go back to calling her Gennie. She had nothing else to add caught up as she was watching someone speak to Brittany in a way that she had never heard before. And for the fact of it, she looked a bit cowed. As she should probably because he was looming a bit; nothing obvious but Gennie never saw him use his size before which he was doing subtly with the pitch of his shoulders.

“I don’t know you”, he told Brittany, “And I don’t particularly want to. But I watched you pretty closely over the course of eight hours a couple of weeks ago and never once did I see you being anything other than a bitch. Everyone was having a great time and never once did you smile. Never once did I see you speak nicely to anyone. I venture to guess if it wasn’t for Geneva’s personality and…what’s your name sweetheart?”

“Chelsea”, said the strawberry blonde.

“…and Chelsea’s dope, you might have ruined the day for everyone. When Geneva told me that she needed to spend some time away from home and I found out that YOU were home I understood and was happy to open my door to her.”

“I bet the door isn’t the only thing you opened to her…”

Finally the blonde spoke up, “Give it a break, Britt…”

“AND”, he continued, “The door is open, she can leave anytime she likes or stay as long as she likes. Isn’t that right Geneva?”

She was starting to get a bad feeling about the ‘Geneva’ thing. He wasn’t even changing his tone when he spoke to her. “Right”, she answered noticing that his look wasn’t typically warm.

“You, on the other hand”, he turned back to Brittany “Are not welcome here.”

“She invited me!”

“Yes, I understand that. But it wasn’t her invitation to give. My house-my rules. She went against my wishes, against an agreement we had and for that she’ll be spanked.”

“Spanked?!” said Brittany and Geneva almost as one. He noticed Chelsea drop her gaze and try to make herself smaller.

“He spanks you?”

“You can’t spank her”, Brittany said. “She’s not your…child.” She pivoted huffily to Geneva. “What’s he do to you?”

“Nothing! No! He’s never laid a hand on me.” But a quick look told her that while that had been true, it wasn’t going to be for much longer. He spoke directly to her. “You’ve never given me cause Geneva. Now you have. You’ll learn from this.”

Brittany turned to face her, “Gennie-you have to come with us now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying here.” Was she just being stubborn? Was she afraid to leave or afraid to stay? ‘you’ll learn from this…’ he’d said. She didn’t know she had anything to learn. “Please…” she said, her eyes wide and shining. She wasn’t pleading not to be spanked. That seemed to be a fait accompli, as it were. No, what she mouthed was, “Not in front of them…please.”

Continuing…

Geneva – 9

(Continued from Geneva – 8)

There was an old PT Cruiser parked in front of his house when he pulled up. It was clean and waxed, the windows spotless, but it had seen some hard miles; originally gold but now decorated with rust, putty and a rainbow bumper sticker. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see it. Knew it was just a matter of time. It had been fun while it lasted, that’s for sure.

He had considered many ways to play this out when it happened but still wasn’t entirely sure what was best. He’d just react to what he found, he thought. It’s what he always did. He pulled beside the Cruiser faster than he needed to, tossing a little gravel to announce his arrival. He hopped out of the truck, strode up the steps and stepped confidently into the house.

Geneva, looking like she had swallowed something bitter, was sitting at one end of the long couch wishing it were longer. At the other end of the couch sat Brittany-erect and challenging- wearing the same miserable face she had all day at the concert. His new lover’s green eyes had none of the light and sparkle that he found so captivating.

He caught the acrid whiff of cigarette smoke. Sitting in the chair-his chair-was the pot-head from the show. A not-quite-pretty but definitely-interesting looking lanky strawberry blonde. Her frizzed out hair was tied on top in a bun that looked like a wind-ruined bird’s nest. She had pulled herself to attention for him but what she hoped would be a defiant puff on a cigarette came off as nervous and contrived.

“No smoking in the house”, he said, opting for stern.

Red-faced, she apologized quickly and, having no ashtray, licked two fingers and squeezed it out dropping the butt into an almost empty beer can that she must have brought with her. He liked her quick action.

“So, this is a nice little get-together” he said, scanning the room. Hearing a tone she had never heard from him, Geneva’s eyes went from leaden dead to panicked darting. She glanced at his face but looked quickly away trying to judge his level of anger without really getting caught head-on in it. She looked at her two friends as if to verify they were really there. “I didn’t know you were coming home so soon.”

“Obviously. You didn’t know I was going to be here so you invited some people over that we specifically talked about you not doing, right?”

Brittany chose her opening to speak about him directly to Gennie. “See? Is this normal? He keeps you a prisoner here and won’t let you see your friends.”

Ignoring her, he addressed Geneva only. “Are you packed?”

“Packed? Why?”

“Didn’t they come to get you?”

“To get…? No! I’m not going anywhere.” Then wide-eyed, “Am I?”

“That’s up to you”, he said.

 

Continuing…

Geneva – 8

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(Continued from Geneva – 7)

As unashamedly smitten as he’d been with Geneva from the moment she wandered across his blanket it had never really occurred to him that she might actually be useful in his daily life. He winced recalling the thought, not only because of where it placed him on the evolutionary scale, but because there she was, in the bed of his pickup, guiding, then securing with straps and ratchets, the Barton’s 800-pound mantle that he was lowering from his forklift.

His first hint of her utilitarian side was when they picked up her things. Expecting-and not being disappointed by-the stylish, if small wardrobe, the thongs, the lacy things, there were also work boots, gloves and jeans torn by function rather than fashion.

She jumped into the passenger seat. “You want to check the straps?”

“They good?” he asked.

“They’re good.”

“Let’s go then”, he pulled out slowly respecting the weight in the bed. It was a short drive.

“So, these folks…”

“The Barton’s…friends for a few years.”

“Knew your wife, right?”

“Yep. They didn’t too much like her. Which made it difficult at times…but it was fine.”

“They were your friends first?”

“No”, he grinned at the inquisition. “It was a good match life-style wise, but not any other wise.”

“Life style….?”

“That’s an onion best peeled slowly”, he said, ending the conversation as they pulled off the road onto a long ribbon of black paved driveway.

Duke Barton stood in the middle of the circular driveway waving them around to the back. It was a sprawling rambler that looked more modest than it was. Driving around to the back the house seemed as deep as it was wide and the patio, where they were delivering the mantel, had a bigger footprint than Gennie’s childhood home. Duke was in his forties-slim and sandy-haired but he was moving too quickly for her to get a good read.

He disappeared into what looked to be a four-car garage and came steaming out in a compact green tractor with a bucket. Does everyone out here have construction equipment she wondered? The bucket had chains stacked inside which Duke jumped out and rigged to lift, noticing her for the first time.

“Hello there!” he said over the hum of both vehicles holding out a gloved hand. Gennie shook firmly. “Geneva”, she said quickly apparently caught up in Duke’s kinetic energy field. “Pleased”, she said then pulled on her own gloves and hopped up onto the truck bed. Duke glanced at him and he smiled with a half-shrug and pointed at her palms up in a ‘she’s got it’ gesture.

Their relationship had changed over the past week as he knew it would, one way or the other. She had become less a girl hiding out at his place and more of a partner in what he was doing-curious, helpful but not intrusive. Plus they had slept together every night since. His third-floor studio was going unused and he didn’t mind a bit. Now he smiled watching Gennie hustle, rig chains, hop up onto the side of the truck-bed to steady the mantel as Duke lifted it clear. He loved that she was showing off but wasn’t sure if it was for him or for Duke. Either way, it was a good look. A very good look.

“It’s finally here…” cried a voice coming from behind her.

She followed the men’s eyes to settle, as everyone’s did, on the formidable breasts of Bethany Barton. She was doing nothing to show them off-they just were. Supremely casual in corduroys and flannel with long dark hair she wore the ‘lady of the manor’ air with aplomb.

“Just when I said it would be…” he countered.

Bethany pulled up beside Gennie, “Who is this green-eyed wonder?”

“Geneva”, she said removing her glove and holding out her hand. Bethany took it lightly, as if catching a butterfly, and slid close.

“Geneva”, she purred. “Wonderful to meet you.”

“Gennie, is fine…”

“So, Geneva”, she asked with an appraising gaze, “Are you a good girl or a naughty girl?”

“Uhh…” Geneva said tentatively.

“Please Beth”, said her husband.

“I’m only asking dear, because that one usually falls toward the naughty girls…”

“We’re still trying to decide that”, he called over.

“Hard to tell”, Bethany said smiling. “With these eyes she can go either way.”

“She’s only just had her first spanking.”

“Really honey?” she asked with arched eyebrows, “Your first?”

Gennie shot him a look- like REALLY?

“Oh, dear. I envy you that.” Bethany gushed closing her eyes in theatrical ecstasy.

“The fear, the confusion, embarrassment, humiliation. You are never as naked as you are over a strong man’s knee, are you dear?”

“Then the pain-there is that-the first shock of it, then the spreading of the warmth-providing he was using his hand and not one of the oak paddles he’s so fond of making, the brute!” She winked at him and he could do nothing but smile and shake his head.

“Then, after the pain, the heat, then the warmth, there is the release-the mind reels at the release-never have I seen the world so clearly as upside down over a lap. Then after the release, the tenderness…how sweet and soft the hands that could be so hard and punishing.”

Finally Duke stepped in.

“Easy Bethany. You don’t want to tell this girl all of your secrets right away.”

The woman smiled at Geneva and leaned close-reaching to touch her blushing cheek. “I think she already knows, don’t you dear?”

They were there just long enough to complete the transaction and ensure the mantel was secured in storage. Duke still had work to do before placing it and he was happily moving rocks before they were out of sight. Bethany had walked them to the truck and given Gennie a little peck on the cheek.

She was quiet until they got onto the two-lane.

“Which is she?”

“Pardon?”

“Is she a good girl? Or a naughty girl.”

“Very naughty.”

Gennie smiled and watched the hills pass the window. Here and there spatters of gold were appearing.

“You ready to pack?”, he asked.

“Definitely not.”

 

(Continuing…)

But Why?

Because,

I want to gasp as you bump your fingers slowly over your handiwork.

I love to hiss at the cool burn when you drizzle the lotion over me.

I want to remember this all day.

I want to feel you all day.

When you’re gone,

I want to feel the tiny buzz when running my own fingers over the tight ridges.

I want to feel them wriggling below when sitting later.

To pause anytime and see a reminder of what we did this morning.

I want to reach back anytime and feel them.

Touch them.

Then make myself feel something more.

There was a time when the memory of your smile-of your hand in mine-was enough;

A long time ago.

Sometimes I wish you weren’t-but

You are too gentle to leave bruises so I could see them for days.

But you’ll be back soon-

To again, scribe your signature,

On me.

 

If you enjoyed, see Corduroy

Geneva – 7

(Continued from Geneva – 6)

He awoke almost exactly at dawn surprised to be alone. Not that she had snuck off particularly, but that he hadn’t awakened. That wasn’t right-everything roused him. He pulled the sheets to his face-they smelled of her. The whole bed smelled of her and he wanted nothing so much that instant than to have her back beside him. The door was open to the hallway.

Pulling on his jeans, he walked quietly down the stairs and, hearing movement in the kitchen, made the turn and headed that way. Dawn broke back there before the rest of the house and as she knelt on the floor-shapeless in the robe he had laid out-a corona from the glowing sun rising through the window enveloped her.

“Ah, they got to you…”

“This one was digging at the door.” She scratched the tiger-striped one behind the ear as his purr rumbled.

“That’s Biff. Happ’s the other.”

“They led me right here. Sniffed at the cupboard.”

“They know the routine. They invented the routine”.

“Both guys, huh?”

“Yeah, but fixed.”

“Good thing to do with guys.” She straightened and turned to face him. “Most guys anyway.”

When she turned and slid toward him he had a vision that she radiated rather than reflected the light surrounding her. The robe, happily too large, gaped open.  He slipped his hands inside and pulled her close, allowing his fingers a long luxurious exploration of her back, down to her bottom, gently between her cheeks and back up her sides. When the robe slipped off one shoulder he pulled it off the other so it fell like a stricken sail to the floor.

He buried his head for a moment in her shoulder gulping the bed-smell as she hugged him back, flattening her breasts against him. The summer tan on her legs was fading from her shoulders and back leaving her skin creamy and thin enough to reveal the veins pulsing just below the surface. She was incredibly soft to the touch.

“So I have a question”, he asked.

“Only one?”

“Why are you on the pill if you were living with a woman?”

“Wishful thinking.” Then, “I was with her on-and-off for a year”, she said, still not answering.

“There’s nothing to say you won’t be with her again,” He said and she shivered. “If you want to be.”

“I’m on the pill for the ‘off’ times. She doesn’t know it. I’m awful.”

“Were there a lot of ‘off’ times?”

“No, actually. That was the ‘wishful thinking’ part. I kept hoping but it never…I was never able to…she was-IS-so controlling. Doesn’t seem like it but….” she sighed and seemed to try to burrow her head more deeply into his chest.

“Don’t think about it. None of my business anyway.  But you’re too young to be doing things you don’t want to for someone else-you have a whole lifetime for that.” He grinned, allowing his hand to slip again down her back.  “Tend to your needs first-if you don’t, they’ll harden inside you and turn into something nasty. We all have needs-don’t apologize for them.”

“I don’t know if it was a need…”

“You needed to be controlled. Or you needed to let her control you. Which are two different things. But whatever it is, those needs are real…Understand them.”

She didn’t want to right then-was content to allow him to hold her close and feel his hardness pushing into her. “What about your needs?”, she asked pushing into him a little.

“That’s an onion we’ll peel later.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Right now a couple of more hours of sleep…”

Mirroring his movements, she cupped his ass squeezing him closer. He looked down into her dancing green eyes. Jesus, he thought, weakened. He would have sworn she winked but probably not. “Absolutely that…THEN, sleep”, he said growing stiffer. She turned, took his hand and stepping over the robe, led him through his own house to his own bed.

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 6

Picksburgh

(Continued from Geneva – 5)

She watched him navigate the confusion of the parking lot like a kayaker running rapids. Absorbed in the task at hand he hadn’t reacted when she told him that she lived with that whole shit-show that she left back on the blanket. She really, really didn’t want to go home and face them again tonight which she hadn’t, of course, told him. But the longer he sat in silence yanking at the steering wheel and alternating punching the gas and slamming the brake the more she thought she’d be back in the shitty apartment on Logan tonight, hugging her edge of the bed trying to stay as far away from Brittany as possible.

To say he’d gotten used to being alone in the last couple of months was probably a bit of a stretch but he had accommodated his new reality fairly well. There were awkward times-running into couples in restaurants or bars who would give him the sad ‘how are you managing?’ face or like today-going to the concert alone. But, on the upside, there was no one to answer to but himself. His decisions affected only him…

He realized they were out of the parking lot and probably five miles down the state road and he still hadn’t said anything. Shit!

“That’s OK”, he said. “You can stay with me tonight.”

“Really? Where did you go there, for the last hour?”

“Wasn’t an hour. Fifteen minutes tops.”

“Felt like an hour.”

“Sorry. I’ve gotten used to the whole inner-dialogue thing. Problematic when there’s someone else here.”

“Was afraid I freaked you out…”

“Not hardly. Look, I have a lot of room.”

“You live alone, then?”

“Yes. And to get it out of the way: separated-she left, divorce papers filed, no going back, and she’s not coming back. There are five bedrooms, six if you count the futon in the office so there’s not only plenty of room, there are plenty of rooms. Goldilocks your way into one of them tonight, get some rest and tomorrow decide what and when.”

They came through the tunnel and the city flashed open through the windshield. He slid to the outer lane and navigated the almost-empty parkway with ease, leaving the lights of downtown in the rearview and coming up on the exit that would lead to University Center and her apartment. She thought about asking him to swing by so she could grab some stuff, but didn’t want to push it. Nor did she want him to know what a crappy place she lived in.

His exit was a few miles beyond where trees and hills still ruled. She knew where Haler Heights was, but never really got over to that part of town. It wasn’t her kind of neighborhood. “That’s where money goes to live”, her Mom had said. She didn’t know about that, but it wasn’t but two lefts and a right from the parkway that they were on a dark two-lane road that flowed through hills with no evidence of houses at all except for the occasional light well back in the distance.

He slowed and swung into what seemed to be a random opening in a stand of trees but was actually a crushed stone driveway. They looped around a small rise and ended at a large old house with two lights glowing on a wrap-around porch. He stopped and turned the truck off, killing the lights. She leaned forward to look at what could have been a forbidding shadow looming over them.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a haunted house.”

“Not all Victorians are haunted”, he said stepping out. “Most. Not all.”

She stepped down timidly and felt the surrounding darkness and silence like a heavy blanket. She could see a shed and a garage in the fading glow of the porch-light but really, Nothing Else. For the first time since the parking lot at the concert she had a pause. Was this a mistake?

He stopped on the porch and turned to see her, back to him, unmoving, facing the night. He kept his mouth shut; she needed to figure this out herself. He was nervous too but didn’t know if mentioning that would help her situation. After a moment, he stepped back down the stairs and approached but no closer than the front of his truck.

“You OK?”

She turned with the little half-smile that melted him the first time he saw it.

“Fucking dark out here.”

He grinned. “Only at night. Look-you want to go back now, we can. You want to go back in an hour, we can. Whatever.”

She moved first, stepping past him but allowing her hand to trail across his arm. “Come on. Let’s see if the place has lights inside.”

He entered the code in the darkened keypad beside the door and slipped a key into the lock.  “Enter”, he said stepping aside. She walked past him hesitantly until the motion detector caught her and switched on a lamp in the foyer and two others in the sitting room.

“OK”, she said. “That’s cool.”

He passed her into the sitting room to a rough sideboard where the bottles were. “I’m making myself a drink. You want?” She hesitated, eyeing the liquor then him. “Look. Don’t start trying to figure out the right answer to every question. If you want one, tell me.”

“Sure”, she said.  “Whatever you’re having.” He picked two tumblers from the counter and filled them with ice from a small fridge below the counter, then the brown liquor from the shelf in back.

“I’m a bourbon guy”, he said handing her a glass.

“Of course you are”, she smiled feeling the unease slipping away.

He held out his glass, “To Farm Aid” he said as they tapped glasses.

“To Farm Aid”, she said taking a thick enough swallow to tell him that it wasn’t her first bourbon.

“I could really go for a shower…”, she said.

 

(Continuing…)