Fallen Too Far (5 page)

“I like that soft blues beat that’s on right now. Let’s go.” He rose and led her by the hand to the dance floor.

True to his word, he was a good dancer and she had no trouble following his lead. He held her close, swaying and then spinning her around under his arm when the beat picked up. They danced for a few songs before he, laughing and hugging her, said time for a break.

She complimented him on his dance skills and asked if he had taken lessons. He replied it was all self taught, observing others dancing. She then asked him the type of books that he was interested in, as he said that he liked to read.

“Mostly I like mystery and detective novels. But I have to admit that I like it when there is sex in a good story. I guess they call it erotica.”

“Hmm…that’s interesting. What scenes are the ones you enjoy the most? Straight sex, a little BDSM, threesomes,” she asked.

“Okay, you asked and you’re the expert. Almost like talking to your doctor….kinda, I mean. I like a woman to take charge and tell me what to do. Maybe it’s because at work I’m the boss, and at home I make the decisions, that just for once I’d like someone else to take control. When I read scenes like that, and fantasize later about it when I’m making love with my wife, it gets me off,” he said.

“I think I’d like to go now Bill and be alone with you.” She purposely leaned forward toward him giving him an eyeful of her cleavage and breasts. She kissed him on the mouth and stood up. His face was level with her tummy. He reached out and stroked her hip before also getting to his feet.

Bill left a twenty dollar bill on the table and they left. On the street, a cab was driving by and he flagged it down. Minutes later they were in his room at the Royal York.

He opened the bar fridge and retrieved two mineral waters. Annik took the water and then suggested he take a cool shower.

“I want you sober and I want to cool your arousal,” she directed.

She freshened her lipstick and turned on soft music while she waited. He emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping, wearing the hotel bathrobe. She kissed his lips and led him to the bed. She told him to sit, propped pillows between his back and the headboard. From her purse, she retrieved two lengths of silk fabric and returned. She tied the first around his wrist in a bow and fastened it to the headboard post. Repeating this action, she fastened his other hand.

“You can untie yourself at any time. Just bring your hand to your mouth and grasp this end,” she said demonstrating with a slight tug how this could be done. He smiled when she retied the knot.

She dimmed the lights slightly and turned up the music. She danced slowly and sensuously, undulating her hips, leaning forward to show cleavage. Running her hands over her body and her thighs, she slowly moved, at one with the music. She slipped the strap of her dress off her shoulder, pushing it down over her arm. When her breasts were just about bared she turned around, her back facing him. Continuing she lifted the hem of her skirt to expose her thighs and the bottom half of her ass above the dark stockings. The hem dropped back to the floor and her hands now pushed the dress down slowly revealing her hips. It fell to the floor and she turned to face him, stepping out of it. Her firm breasts topped with dark brown, hard nipples swayed slightly with her movements. She slipped her fingers into the sides of her panties pulling them down and leaning over, jiggling her breasts a little. Stepping out of them, she tossed them at him.

She moved closer, still dancing. She touched her pussy with her hands holding the lips apart giving him a full view of her vulva. He groaned.

She stepped closer, and he strained his hand to touch her. But she stepped back just out of reach. She reached down and with one finger stroked his hard cock, from the purple head to the base. Her fingers played on its tip rubbing his pre-come over the head. From the night table she picked up and opened a foil packet. She slipped the condom on him before she knelt down to take him into her mouth. He breathed heavily and pumped himself upward. She withdrew, stood up and walked to the other side of the bed to lie next to him. She straddled his thighs and eased forward so that her pussy pressed against his cock. With her hands she tossed her hair upward and rubbed herself against him. He looked with longing at her high full breasts, narrow waist and parted pussy lips caressing his cock. She reached down with one hand and touched her clit, sliding her finger into her vagina. She withdrew her finger and slid it along Bill’s upper lip. She continued rubbing herself against him.

Bill lifted his head from the pillows, and with his teeth unfastened his hand. He freed his other hand and reached for her. He pulled her to him and shifting himself, he rolled on top while She spread her legs, opening herself to receive him. He thrust roughly into her, pumping fast and furious. She squeezed her muscles tight onto him.

With a final hard thrust he orgasmed, his body stiffening, moaning his pleasure. She held him as his body collapsed on top of her.

“Bill, that was good,” she sighed.

“You’re telling me. I haven’t had an orgasm that intense since I was in my twenties. God, you’re good.”

She raised herself up onto her knees, and slipped the condom off. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she said, “but I'm not finished with you yet.” With a twinkle in her eye, she demonstrated to him that his money was well spent, coaxing a second, even more powerful orgasm out of him.

They lay together in bed until he began to nod off. She kissed him on the forehead and got out of bed, dressing while he watched her with sleepy eyes. As she let herself out, she blew him a kiss that he returned.

Emerging from the elevator she kept her eyes on the lobby door. She wouldn’t glance at the desk clerk, they usually smirked.

The newspapers for the next day were being delivered at the front desk.

****

The desk clerk’s eyes lifted and looked past Paul.

He turned to see what had caught the clerk’s attention. It was early in the morning and not many people were around. He did a double take when he saw the woman wearing a coral evening gown push the revolving door.

It had been but a fleeting glance, but long enough for him to recognize her. Paul dumped the bundle of newspapers and strode across the hotel foyer. He saw the flash of her leg before the door of the car closed and the cab pulled away.

Chapter 4

Most people go through life via a series of accidents. They’re born into a certain family by chance, go to the closest schools, get a job or choose a career or trade, meet someone randomly, settle down and put the same random wheels in motion for their offspring.

Not many people actually design their lives. Those who do are the fortunate ones. They have an experience at a young age which they enjoy and follow up on it. Some become doctors, some become schoolteachers, some become pastors.

All of these people have one thing in common. If they were asked why they chose their particular occupation, they would answer that it was the only thing they wanted to do as long as they could remember. For them, there was no alternative. Some would name this a vocation, a calling. They didn’t choose their field, they have a sense that they were chosen by it.

These chosen ones always excel. Their work is much more than what they do, it’s what they are. Their work is as much a part of them as the color of their eyes, the sort of food they enjoy, their intelligence level. Their vocation is as much a part of them as their racial heritage. It’s not just in their blood, it’s in their genes.

All the other elements of a life well lived are secondary. Of course they love their family. Of course they enjoy the company of their friends. They may dabble in a hobby, but not very much. They’d rather spend that time and effort at their calling. Often they forego permanent relationships. Their lives of solitude are not lonely; their work is their companion.

Paul was such a person. He found his calling early in life. Of the thirty-four years he had been alive, he had no memory of ever
not
being drawn to his work. Perhaps it was an unusual occupation; but he knew there were others like himself in the world. He’d never met them, but he knew of many of them. The ones he knew of were not the best, though. They had been caught. The best ones were out there, following their calling, like him, year in and out.

As a child, he was a good boy. Gram told him that. Gram was the only mother he’d ever known. She had raised him from infancy. Her daughter gave birth to him, and six months later went out for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread and never came back. He had no memory of her, only of Gram, so he knew he had no ‘abandonment issues’.

It was probably for the best anyway. Gram had told him that when he was a teenager. She was worried that he would try drugs and enjoy them as his mother did. His mother was an addict, and it was only through the grace of God he was born healthy. Gram never said it outright, but Paul was smart enough to conclude that his mother paid for her drugs through the sex trade. First as a stripper, then as a prostitute. Gram made him promise that he would never try any drugs or alcohol until he was twenty-one.

He kept that promise all through high school and after wards. On his twenty first birthday he tried alcohol and found it useless. It burned his throat and made him feel disoriented. His life of sobriety was not a choice; he wasn’t missing out on anything. He was more baffled by people who couldn’t get enough of it. He never tried drugs; if simple stuff like booze was so disagreeable, the stronger substances could only be more so.

Not having friends took away peer pressure. Gram had been a little concerned over his solitary life when he was in elementary school. Her concern stopped though when he entered high school and she was diagnosed. His lack of a social circle became a blessing for her then. As her illness progressed, he became her caretaker.

Which was fine with him. It had given him time to pursue what he thought was his hobby, which became his vocation.

Gram lived in the home she grew up in. It was a farmhouse about an hour outside of Toronto. When her husband died she leased out the acreage at first and kept her job at the bank. Living simply, she was able to provide for Paul. When she became ill, she began to sell off the outlying acreage. As Toronto continued to sprawl in the 80’s and 90’s the land increased in value exponentially.

It was a decent sized farm with a barn behind the house. The barn was Gramp’s workshop before he died. Like many barns it had cats living in it. When Paul was eight he was in the barn exploring and came upon a nest of kittens.

They were only about a week old or so and their mother must have been away hunting mice or chipmunks to feed on. They were the first kittens Paul had ever seen. He was curious about them and poked each one with his finger. They responded with mewling and tried to snuggle into it.

They were adorable. And helpless. He picked one up by the scruff of the neck and held it to his face. It hung limply from his hand. Without a conscious thought or decision he reared back and threw it as hard as he could against a nearby wall. It crunched against the wood, fell to the ground completely still.

He picked up a second kitten, and cradling it in his hands wrung its neck, hearing the bones crackle. He laid it back down with its litter mates, retrieved the first one and placed it back with the others.

He ended the lives of the remaining three kittens in different ways, replacing their bodies when he was done. The last kitten he stabbed with a pointy screwdriver he retrieved from the workbench.

Squatting over the carcasses, he felt he had done good work. He didn’t feel any emotion other than satisfaction. He did a good job. He wondered where their mother was.

Over the course of the next several days he returned to the barn, but never saw their mother. When the carcasses started to smell and become fly covered he took a shovel and dug a hole behind the barn, where the wooded area started. He buried the kittens in a group. He cleaned the dirt off the shovel before replacing it in the barn. Again he felt satisfaction. He felt a little puzzled over why he didn’t feel bad. He knew he shouldn’t tell Gram.

He felt good about it, and went back to doing the things little boys do.

A few months later he missed that feeling. He went back to the workshop and prowled around. He was looking for the live trap cage that Gram had used one autumn to catch a raccoon that was setting up winter’s quarters in their cellar. When she caught it, she took Paul with her in the car. They drove to a provincial park that was twenty minutes away and released it.

Paul had thought that the raccoon looked like a person. It was very angry being trapped in the cage, hissing and grabbing the bars with its hands like a prisoner. Its eyes were angry. When Gram attached a cord to the cage door and opened it, it sauntered out, gave her a dirty look and then loped into the undergrowth.

When he found the cage he spent some time figuring out how it worked. He carried it into the woods and baited it.

The next day he had a squirrel in the cage. It had hands sort of like the raccoon, but not the expressive eyes. Squatting outside the cage with some tools, Paul did some more good work. He buried the squirrel next to the kittens. He hosed off the cage in the backyard and returned it to the workshop.