The cawing of Blue Jays outside the window woke me from a peaceful sleep. I stretched and rolled over to find an empty bed. Lifting my head, I listened for sounds of Max, but I heard nothing. I groaned with disappointment and buried my head in the pillow. Where was he? Had he gone for a morning run?
I ran my arms over the sheets where he had slept and remembered the passion and tenderness of the night before. Rolling over and grinning at the ceiling, I relished the fact that for once in my life I felt complete. I could call myself a woman. I wasn't frigid, or a freak, or a bitch, or any of the names men had used when I froze like three year old entering a dark room. I was a sensual, sexual woman, and a hot one last night.
Perhaps the scars had finally healed. Maybe the process of writing the book and exploring sex had allowed me to trust myself...and him. My therapist was right after all. I would be normal again. I would feel the energy of rebirth. I wanted to sing and dance. I was alive.
I threw off the covers and jumped from the bed. If Max could run, I could make breakfast. I stretched and skipped to the kitchen. Glancing out the window, I noticed Max's jeep was gone. I stopped.
"That's odd," I thought. "Where would go so early in the morning?" Then the truth hit me. He left to even the score with Riley!
"Oh Shit!" Fighting was so male and so typical. Why couldn't men get over it? Why did they have to always level the scales? Stupid, as if I would respect him less. Stupid! I had to stop him, but what could I do? I didn't have a car, not that I had any idea where Riley tended those herds of beef.
I left the cabin and walked to the main house. Wanting to get dressed before making coffee, I headed for the bedroom. I had slipped on jeans and a white T-shirt when the phone rang downstairs. I raced down and caught it on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Jamie?"
"Yes..."
"This is Officer Moorehead from the Sheriff's department. "I was calling to see if you were all right and if you wanted to talk about what happened last night at Castle Rock."
"Oh, that." I suddenly realized he was the one who had driven me home.
"Not such a big deal this morning?" His tone of jest made me laugh.
"When you said you were from the Sheriff's department, I thought it was something else."
"How are you doing this morning? Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Have you thought about pressing charges?"
"No." I hesitated. "I really couldn't charge him with anything more than scaring me."
"You acted like he did a lot more than that."
"I really don't want to talk about. I'd rather just forget the whole thing."
"What about your friend?" he asked.
"You mean Max?"
"Yes, the one who lives in the cottage. He seemed a little upset last night."
"Um...I don't know. He was gone when I got up this morning."
"Where do you think I might find him?"
"Why?"
"He seemed to know who you were with."
I knew he was trying to get me to tell him Riley's name, but I wasn't sure I wanted him to know.
"Why are you protecting this guy? Do you like him?"
"No!" I shot quickly. "He's a pig!"
"Then tell me his name."
Suddenly he made sense. I would die if anything happened to Max.
"Riley Collins."
"I should have figured that out myself." He grunted with disgust. "You're not the first lady he's "scared."
"You mean he's done this to other women?"
"Yep. Specially when he's been drinkin'."
Anger boiled inside me. The man had abused women before and continually gotten away with it. He would continue to get away with it unless somebody did something.
"Has anyone ever pressed charges?"
"Nope, most are like you. They want to forget about it." He paused and then continued. "And I guess some like to be treated that way."
"Has he ever hurt anyone?"
"Not that I know of. He hasn't hit anyone or anything. But he has forced himself on a few women. Like I said, when he's been drinkin'."
I thought about his kisses and sticking his hand up my dress. I thought about him stroking his cock in the dark and asking me to suck it. The phone was silent until the officer spoke again.
"Want to tell me what happened?"
"Well, he kissed me..."
"Did you want him to kiss you?"
"No, he slid over and put his arm around me and before I knew what had happened, he was kissing me."
"What did you do?"
"I tried to push him away, but he's too big..."
"Then what happened?"
"Then he slid his hands up my dress...and starting biting my breasts through my dress."
"What did you do?"
"I told him to stop. That he was going too fast."
"Then?"
"He pulled my panties away and..."
"And?"
"And pushed his fingers inside me."
The office cleared his throat. "I see... and what did you do then?"
"I slapped him and told him to take me home."
"But he didn't stop..."
"No, he didn't" I took a deep breath and continued. "He opened his trousers and pulled out his... thing."
"Okay..."
"He tried to get me to touch it and...you know..."
"Have oral sex?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"I told him to take me home."
"And?"
"He said he couldn't drive in that condition."
"So what happened then?"
"That's when I got out and started walking."
"He left you there?"
"He didn't have much choice. I hid in the woods until he was gone."
"I don't know whether you're smart or stupid," he laughed. "But I guess you did the right thing. Weren't you scared?"
"Terribly, but I really don't feel I can press charges."
"There's certainly nothing right about what he did," stated the officer. "But you're right. He wouldn't get more than a hand slap from the judge."
"I'm afraid he might get more than that from Max."
"What?"
"Max, my friend, I think he went to visit Riley this morning."
"Damn, why didn't you say so? Want someone to get hurt?"
"I...of course not. I..."
"Never mind. I don't have time right now. I have to get out to Riley's before the 911 call comes in."
"You'll let me know what happens?"
His answer was a dial tone. I stared at the receiver before I cradled it. What had I done? Had I put Max in harm's way? Officer Moorehead sounded concerned. Did Riley have a reputation for fighting? I was glad someone was going to check on Max and Riley. Riley was bigger, and although Max was no runt, he was no match for Riley. Why had Max disappeared anyway? Men were so stupid about pride.
I made a pot of coffee and looked for the morning paper. It was amazing how I had grown used to Max's routines. The paper was nowhere in sight. I walked to the living room and sat on the couch. The folder containing the erotic therapy still rested on the side table. I picked it up. Flipping through the folder, I realized there was only one story left to read. If it didn't tell me who the author was, I would probably never find out.
***
She opened her eyes to the dawn light and listened. Birds. With the windows open, the birds were loud and insistent. Why did they sing so in the morning? She wondered a moment. They seemed happy. Was night so terrible that dawn brought joyful release? Or were their trills and whistles something else? A greeting perhaps? Were the birds wooing in the dawn gray? How would it feel to be wooed in the morning?
She closed her eyes, listened to the birds, and imagined his hands on her. How would they feel at first light? She knew how they felt at night, that fevered tenseness of his fingers as he roamed her body. His hands were predators at night. They treated her body like home territory, touching and rubbing and caressing and massaging, owning her. Night hands found her responding quickly and wetly, her need running close to the surface, her skin thinly stretched over the passion beneath. Night love seemed easy.
Dawn love? She imagined his hands on her back. These weren't predator hands. These were explorer hands, hands treating her as new territory, as something never before experienced. Tentative, prayerful, the fingers tiptoed across her skin. Was she a bundle of passion, or were the fires banked for the night, a single ember the only relic of the night. Yes, his hands would be bird-like in the morning. His fingers would coo and trill and soothe, sending out a question and waiting for an answer. Those wonderful exploratory hands would slide down her back and across her tush, touching, kneading. A supplicant finger would slide down between her buns and touch her, wondering if her body had begun to respond.
This wasn't some dog lapping her juice but a rabbit tasting, sipping. This was a lark hopping about, nibbling. She could feel the beak-like finger slipping inside her, ready to retreat if she wasn't ready. But she was ready, and the fearful little bird wormed inside her. She felt his warm breath on her back. A tongue licked tentatively at her skin, tasting as a chef tastes a sauce. No lapping, the tongue sips her, savoring the nuances of her body. She can stop him at any time, and nothing would be wrong. This isn't night fever but dawn breakfast, a light repast to break the night's fast.
The timid bird bathes in her juice. The light tongue draws dappled designs on her back. Squeezing the little beast, she feels the morning warm. That tippling tongue dances up her back over her neck, around her ears. Her body gushes. Her orgasm ripples through her. No big splash, this orgasm is a pebble tossed into the pond of her emotions, small ripplets spreading evenly from the epicenter of her body.
His lips find her neck. The small beastie retreats. She floats in the early morning, content for the moment with the ripples. The waves will come later. For now, she listens to the birds and silently thanks him for attention. Dawn love. Delicious in its delicacy.
***
I sighed and closed the folder. Dawn love, indeed. I would have loved to have had Dawn Love had not Max taken off. The thought of his tongue flickering over me mad me shiver.
So I wasn't going to discover who wrote the stories. Frustration made me frown. I wanted to know whose mind had concocted those erotic scenes. I guessed Margarite had penned the vignettes. But for who? Max? Margarite had been at least ten years older than Max...but then Max was ten years older than me. Did age make any difference?
I wish I had the nerve to ask, but Max might think I was jealous...or nosy. Perhaps Margarite had taught him to be a tender lover. Perhaps she had taught him how to please a woman with his tongue. God, he was good at that. But had he ever loved her? I wondered.
©Copyright 1996 - 1998 Angela Preston. These stories may not be reprinted in any form without written permission.