"In Cold Blood" Pt. 02

He was sorry?

Three...

Vernon Childs was a guy who worked at the marina. He was a lot older than me and a veteran. I didn't care. He had it coming. It was close to 5:00 a.m., no sun yet. He got out of his late model heavily rusted Chevy pick-up and started to walk up to sign in. I was right behind him. I felt kind of sorry for him. If he'd been a little later it would have been somebody else.

Just as I was up on him all ready to put my fist to the back of his neck I heard someone from behind say, "That'll do Larry."

I turned around and it was Roland McCreary. He looked like a mountain. He said, "Leave Vernon alone."

I was hot and angry, "Why should I?"

By then Vernon was turned around and had figured out what had almost happened. His face as white as snow; he looked scared and like he was ready to cry.

Roland stared me down, "He never got her Larry. Anyone told you he did was lying. Second, he's not well and you know it. Third, he's got a wife and kids. They need him. And four, Larry you can't beat up everybody. You got to move on."

I was still so hot, "That's easy for you to say." I knew I was wrong before I finished the sentence.

Roland was right beside me by then, "Come on Larry; let me buy you breakfast," he put his arm on my shoulder and he walked me to Mr. and Mrs. Kemmerick's eatery. He bought me breakfast. Lisa served.

We sat and talked. It was an interesting morning. He told me about how he lost his girlfriend. He figured it was the best thing that happened to her since he came back so fucked up he probably would've done something really bad to hurt her. He told me everybody'd figured who got to Clay and Presley. He said he was sure nobody'd be giving me any shit anymore, and it was best to just let it be.

So that was that...

I thought about Roland McCreary; him and Lisa? I stayed away from the Kemmerick's breakfast place for a while. I needed to catch my breath. Susan was long gone. I went back about my business like before. The days stretched on forever. I kept to myself. I called my lawyer every now and then; no do gooder social worker had intervened. Then some weeks after Susan left I decided to go back to Rory's. Lisa was there.

I got there a little after 11:00 and took a stool near the register, that way she had to see me. She came out from the place where they washed the pots and pans carrying a stack of plates. They mostly used those unbreakable plastic dishes sold at Walmart. She saw me and immediately turned back around; I guessed she didn't want to talk. She was wearing a pretty yellowish apron; it went over her shoulders and had frilly stuff on the straps, it was tied at the waist with a bow in the back.

She had her hair up in a messy looking bun. Before she did her turn I saw the tiny pendant hanging from her necklace. Her mom's Jewish, dad's Methodist like me, but for her mom's sake she always wore one of those 'chai' things instead of a Cross or Star of David. I'd asked her about it once. She'd told me some nonsense, but I'd forgotten. I also noticed a smudge or something on her nose; I hoped it wasn't a pimple, she'd been through enough of that.

I got up and followed her back. She was standing at the pots and pans sink, hands on the rim. I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders, "Hey. What's up?"

She turned around. Well there she was; thick black hair all a mess, long black lashes framing big dark brown eyes, glasses fogged up, red cheeks and snow white skin that never tanned only burned, and yes, it was a pimple alright, right on the end of her otherwise perfect little nose. Jews and Italians I thought a lot of times had big noses; hers was never what I thought was big it was always 'just right'; small and turned up a little at the end. Needless to say I spent too much time on the pimple.

She turned back around. Hands back on the sink, "You're not supposed to be back here."

I said, "Turn around and talk to me."

She said, "Get out of here."

By then we'd attracted some attention. Her mom saw me come back; she'd pushed Mr. Kemmerick out the door back into the dining room. The only other person was Lisa's aunt Marty, her dad's younger sister and part owner. Aunt Marty was scrubbing down the griddle and very deliberately ignoring us.

I said, "Turn around and talk to me."

She said, "I said get out."

I said, "Not till you turn around."

She spun around, palms and back pressed against the sink, chest out. She was wearing a white Tee-shirt under the apron. It was damp. Oh what scrumptious boobs! In a harsh undertone she growled, "Get out of here." She spun back around.

I said, "Have you missed me?"

"No. Why should I?"

I asked, "There's a Matt Damn playing at the Cineplex. Want to go?"

"No."

I said, "It's a Bourne."

She said, "Already saw it."

I said, "Want to go fishing?"

"No."

"How about I take you out in my boat?"

"I hate boats."

I said, "Maybe you could buy a gun and shoot me."

She replied, "No money," then she turned back around, "Why don't you just go away. Can't you see I don't want to have anything to do with you?"

I stood up real straight. I spread my legs and pointed to my crotch, "Look here. Kick me."

She laughed. She had to turn her head to hide her tears, "You're so stupid."

I reached out, got her chin in my fingers, and pulled her head back around. Jesus I'd dated her all through high school and barely got a feel. Weren't Jewish girls supposed to loose, and I was a Methodist; weren't we supposed to be liberal? And I got nothing? I wanted to tear that apron, that skimpy Tee-shirt and those denim shorts she was wearing off her body and plunge my dick right in her twat, but instead I said, "No. I used to be stupid." She was so alarmingly beautiful! How could I have missed it?

She said, "And you're not now?"

I said, "Not anymore. How about it, Matt Damon tonight." I gave her my best 'wounded puppy'. Has anyone ever watched butter melt?

She asked, "What time?"

"If I picked you up at 6:00 we could get a bite to eat first."

Then came her last attempt to get rid of me, "You know I'm dating someone."

"No you're not. I've had my eye out."

She sighed, "OK, 6:00, which restaurant?"

"Casey's Pier," I'd named the nicest seafood place around. That meant she knew I was serious. It also meant she'd have to get dressed up.

Five forty-five that evening I was on the lot behind Rory's Breakfast Cafe. I was wearing a sport coat, a pair of dark blue slacks, and a white shirt. I even had on a tie. I hadn't worn one in years; it'd taken me twenty minutes to get it on right. I knocked on the door.

Her mom opened it. She looked surprised. I was surprised too since I thought Lisa had the back of the house to herself. She said, "Come in. She'll only be a minute."

I stepped back, "No, I'll wait out here."

Mom said, "OK, hope she's not too long."

About five minutes later Lisa-Ann Kemmerick walked out her front door. Dark blue dress, hem just above the knees, maybe three inch heels, hair back in a single long braid. Bright red pimple on the end of a perfect nose that was attached to a perfect face. Two thoughts raced through my mind; one 'I'm stupid no more', and two 'I need to marry this girl'.

I held out a box I had in my hand, "Here I bought you something."

She looked askance at the small box, "What's this?"

"Open it and see."

She looked silly, a little childlike as she opened the box. She exhumed the object buried inside; she held up the thin necklace with the object I'd found for it, "That's pretty. What is it?"

I grinned, "It's called a Chi Rho."

"A Chi Rho; what's it supposed to mean?"

"It's a Christian thing, peace in Christ I think. Most people don't know about it."

She looked at it like it might bite her, "Where should I wear it?"

I said, "It's a necklace. You wear it around your neck."

She touched the Chai she had at her throat, "But I'm..."

I smiled and whispered, "I know, you think you're Jewish, but your dad's a Christian. They go together. May I put it on you? Please?"

She murmured, "Well I..."

I took the necklace, "Here, turn around."

She did.

I put it on. While I was attaching it I thought, 'This is a perfect first step. I'm staking my claim.'

From there I escorted her to my crisp and clean almost new Toyota Camry. I had an older pick-up for work, but the Camry was special. After my last meeting with Susan I'd shopped around and got it. I thought of it as a 'family friendly' car, something a woman looking for security might like. I held the door and helped Lisa in. She almost gracefully slipped into her seat, beautiful legs, and dark hose to go with her shoes. I thought almost because she didn't quite get the slide into the seat right and her dress slid up almost to her ass. She blushed and stammered, "I'm sorry."

I grinned, "Any time, enjoyed the view."

Without another word she wriggled her dress back down, and every part of her body moved. I thought, 'Why do car makers insist on bucket seats?'

Outwardly Lisa evinced confidence, but those soft brown eyes told another story. She was nervous and self-conscious. She had muscular legs and a tight round ass, but from my seat it was her breasts that captivated me. Her dress was neither tight nor loose, the neckline was cut neither low nor high, but the plump shape, and downright jauntiness of those boobs were mesmerizing. I was getting a hard on.

All the way to the restaurant we listened to her favorite country singers. Afraid I might spoil the mood I didn't say anything. She said very little, mostly inanities, but her voice had a husky 'come to me' tonality. Her breasts seemed to roll and loll in exquisite uniformity. Her dress; maybe it was the material, the soft shimmery silky shiny material, maybe it was the subtlety of the cut, maybe it was the texture, its oh so apparent almost but not quite transparency that revealed and concealed. I could see nothing. I could see everything. Every time she moved her breasts undulated like waves on the ocean; she had to be braless. I was in torment.

Dinner was the sweetest agony. I'd forgotten how smart she was, how easily she could coax and flatter the silliest things from me. We sat at a table, close but not quite side by side. A tablecloth covered our legs and her soft hands softly floated across my thighs, a fingertip resting on the cloth beside the zipper of my pants leg. My instantaneous arousal.

My jacket off, I'd clumsily spilled my water. She came to my rescue with a napkin and a dainty hand wiping the offending fluid from my chest, stomach, and lap. She was insidious. The slightest touch and I was a nervous wreck.

After a nerve racking appetizer, a feverish entre, and an awkward dessert it was time to take her home. We skipped the movie. The drive was horrific. She had no idea how close to ravishment she was.

Since her divorce Lisa's parents had set aside the back portion of their house just for her. So there we were at her back door. I was a little chary of trying to further embolden myself. No, a kiss at her door and a hasty retreat good bye was all I thought I could muster.

I leaned down for the denouement. She leaned up. Her hand caressed the nape of my neck; an earthquake of chills roiled up and down my back. I needed to leave, but as I stepped back to wish her good night with an offer of another date, she whispered, "My parents are probably asleep. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

Terrified about what to say; a refusal might end what I hoped would become something truly meaningful I almost said no. Then at the last moment I summoned my last droplet of courage. Voice quavering I said, "You're sure?"

She devastated the last of my will power with one come hither look, "We'll have to be very quiet."

I was breathing so heavy I don't think I got out an answer. She took my hand and led me in. We walked over to an old thick comfortable sofa. She sat and pulled me down beside her. "Larry," she whispered.

She was invitingly warm. Perspiration caused her cheeks to glow, "Lisa."

"I was married so you know I'm not a virgin, but there are some things I need to say," she heaved a sigh, "though I haven't been with a man since my divorce I don't want things to go too far with you, and second, my husband never satisfied me."

I started to ask, "You mean..."

"No we copulated. We completed the sex act many times, but he never did anything to, uh, take care of me."

My first thought was how personal she was getting, "So you've never had an orgasm."

"Not with my husband," she stiffened, "all my happy moments have come from self-stimulation."

"Really," I asked, "like it's all been just you alone."

Impatiently she said, "Do I have to spell it out for you? I've only been with one man, my ex-husband, and he was awful, and the thought of being with a woman makes me uncomfortable. I don't have any 'things' or 'toys'; I just lie in bed and touch myself, but that's so unsatisfying I wish sometimes I was dead."

She was so sincere, "I'm sorry, and I mean it. I thought you and McCreary had something going."

"God no," she sputtered, "Roland and I are close friends. He's a very gentle man, and he's so considerate, we talk all the time, but no, nothing like what you're thinking."

That was a relief, I said, "I respect you when you say you don't want to do anything with me. I admit I'd like to make love to you. I've thought about almost nothing else since Susan and I broke up. I wish now I'd taken you more seriously back in high school, but you were such a self-righteous overbearing little twit. Worse you were so much smarter than everybody else; you intimidated me."

She was holding her hands in her lap, "I was scared."

"Scared? Scared of what?"

"You still don't know do you. I was so much in love with you. I was afraid if I let you know you would make fun of me."

I listened and the truth was back then I might've, "How do you feel about me now?"

She looked at me, "I should've been more honest with you when we were in high school. Now I don't know."

I took her hands in mine. She didn't like it, but I held them anyway, "You know what we're doing right now?"

I could see the sarcasm coming. She shook her head, "Holding hands?"

"No, we're having a conversation. I think it's the first real conversation we've had. And you know what else?"

"No what?"

"Well, I'm having good time. More, I want to be the first person to show you the joy of a good sexual relationship. In fact I can't think of anything I'd rather do."

She pulled her hands away, "That can't happen. I told you I can't do that."

I took her hands back. She let me. I smiled and said, "I'd never dream of pushing you," I chuckled, "at least not for a while. But there are other things. By that I mean there are other ways..."

She leaned back, "No I won't do that either."

"Do what," I asked?

"I won't do what you want, and I'll tell you why," I sat still and listened.

"My husband wasn't a very nice man. I thought marriage meant love and affection, but the first few times we went to bed he just plowed into me, he did a lot of the in and out, he'd ejaculate in me, then he'd roll over and go to sleep. All it did for me was hurt."

"Wow," I said, "that wasn't right."

"I didn't think so either so I tried to get him to slow down, but all he wanted when we went slower was for me to suck on his penis. I did a couple times, but he didn't wash and he smelled. He'd shoot in my mouth or on my face. He thought it was funny."

Her voice was getting higher and she was talking faster. I put my hand on her shoulder, "That was wrong. I'd never. I've never."

She stopped me, "Larry I know you wouldn't. I could tell you things Susan used to say in the restaurant behind your back. I won't though. But my husband; he got worse and worse. If I didn't do him he'd get mad. He tied me up once. He tied my hands behind my back with shoe laces, and he took a thin piece of rope, tied it around my neck, and made me sleep on the floor. Once when I wouldn't do him he tied me up so he could jerk off on me. He squirted his stuff all over my face and then he made me sleep with it on me all night. Larry I felt so degraded, but excited too."

"Why are you telling me this Lisa? You've got to know I'd never in a million years do any of that sick deviant stuff to any girl, least of all you."

She sat there, quite still.

"I mean it Lisa I'm not like that. I'm not into bondage or any of that kind of crap."

She looked over at me real slow, "I don't think you see," she looked away, "There are things you don't know about me. Things I found out about myself. Things I'm not proud of, abnormal things.

This was Lisa Ann Kemmerick, hard assed, no nonsense little Jewess? She had secrets? Deep dark secrets; I doubted that. Seeing how tense she was, I said, "Come on, I don't think there's anything that could be abnormal about you. What do you mean?"

She tried to effect a smile that didn't quite work, "I read up; all you guys like bondage. You all like helpless women, having some hapless girl at your beck and call, tied up, in handcuffs, wearing his collar."

Stunning! What a stunning thing for her say. I asked, "You want me to tie you up?"

She gave me a sheepish little smile, "You could if you wanted to. I trust you. Just so you know, no sex."

Flabbergasted I answered, "Lisa if I tied you up, how could you stop me?"

She was gaining confidence. I could see it in her eyes, "Not you Larry. I could trust you."

"You think so?"

She nodded her head vigorously, "I do. I know I could."

I was still holding her hand, "I'd want to kiss you and all."

She said, "I'd want you to" again she hesitated, then apprehensively she added, "I want to show you something," she got up and walked into what I presumed was her bedroom. She came out moments later with a wooden box; it looked like some sailor's treasure chest. She sat back down beside me, "You won't think I'm weird?"

"No."

"You won't laugh at me or tell anyone?"

She was holding that box like it was filled with precious gems, "No Lisa I could never do anything like that."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She slowly opened the box. For a few seconds she looked lovingly at its content without showing me. Then she slowly turned it around. It was with some consternation when I saw what was there. Inside she had an assortment of bondage toys. There were metal cuffs and shackles, a couple different kinds of collars, a roll of thick twine, and several scarves.

"Lisa are you telling me since your ex-husband never gave you the pleasure you sought you gradually found gratification in stuff like this."

She started shaking her head yes, "But it's really not that bad. I do it by myself, and until now no else has ever known."

'Damn,' I thought, 'in a way Lisa's as screwed up as Susan,' "Lisa you showed me this because you know you can trust me?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"Lisa I want to make love to you."

"No, don't you understand? I can never be like other women. I have my own needs. I don't have to be with anybody else. We could never be anything more than friends because you'd want something from me I can't give."

I buckled up all my courage. I needed something nonthreatening to say, "I told you I wanted to make love to you. That doesn't mean you'd have to do anything for me. Lisa just let me be nice to you."

"What does that mean Larry?"

"It means you letting me show you how much I care by helping you get what you want without me getting anything for myself All I'd get would be the satisfaction of making you happy."

"I have pictures I got off the Internet. They're on my computer. Do you want to see?"

"No Lisa I don't need them. I just need you to let me make you happy."

She looked down at her little box of treasures, "How would you do it?"