From the diary pages of a broken woman (sexual scene, violence)
I noticed him one day, suddenly like a thunder in the middle of May and realized he was the one. The one I would stare at every evening during my time at the gym. The one I would think of as my reason to continue caring about fitness. The one I would think of during nights in bed or soaking bathtubs. He will be the one I will now want and infatuate my mind with to replace the one before him.
I stole a quick look. He was throwing punches in the air, just as the one before him used to do so often. And my heart sank deeper. He was truly perfect. Like him, he was very handsomely built with dark features, strong back and well defined arms, lean and sporty. Like him, he too was very young with that inspiring youth that is like a disease, contagious and hurtful. He too wore glasses, boasted a sharp jawline shaped by a slight baby hair beard, and had those sad listless eyes that gave up on love before trying. I watched him from the butt-lifting machine, pretending to be fully engrossed in shaping my glutes. He finished throwing punches and started doing his regular round of sit-ups. Some girl came up and interrupted him. “No, no, it’s totally fine.” He said to her and followed her into the back. “Dang it.” I thought, desperately trying not to make any angry sounds out loud. He is mine. Leave off, bitch. But what could I do? He was a trainer and he was on the clock. And I was married with a huge ring that sectioned territorial boundaries better than an African hippo.
It was the fourth month of me discretely watching him every day, as I worked out around his training area. And although he was extremely shy and minding only his own business of throwing punches into air or training annoying bitches who desperately tried to get in with him, to my astonishment, several times I noticed him do a double-take on me or watch my Zumba moves through the window. My happiness knew no bounds. The attraction was mutual.
I wondered what his name was but preferred not to know. Something told me it was William, and I hated it because the only way I would accept him was by him having no name. He was no one but a replica of the only man I loved, the only man I longed for and he was created and placed in front of me as a soft cushion for my shuttered heart’s pieces to slowly become whole again. I was not meant to have a relationship with this person. Nor to reduce our distance. In fact, from the distance our attraction was becoming more scintillating until it was just driving me crazy. As for him, whatever feelings he may have had for me, he hid them well. He saw me a few times speaking to my husband on the floor and since then his double-takes or stares through the window ceased. “William” or whatever-the-fuck noticed me no longer.
I came to the gym that day, full of sadness. It may have been that depressing stupid song I was listening to on my headphones that sang about true love, and how this girl lost it and now her heart can’t be put together the same exact way it was, and I couldn’t help wondering the same. It was a few years since I’ve put an end to the melodrama of my true love turning out to be nothing but a sad state of an imaginary bullshit pictured in my depressed mind in rosy colors to be wiped out by the chronicle of his lies and deceptions which made me realize he never loved me to begin with – your usual “it was an just illusion” case. And I wondered for the X-nth time, why does my idiotic heart keep going back to that place where everything that happened, happened in illusion. Why my heart keeps going back and wanting it all over, knowing full well in reality this does not exist. Why my heart keeps feeling sorry for itself and complaining while the mind has long since moved on. So there I was listening to the words of the song that highly resonated with my own and felt idiotically sorry for myself once again, remembering him, his promises, his kisses and his touches.
But it wasn’t just the lyrics that made me sad. It was also the way that song was made, the melody, although sad, was so sexually chill, it made me uncomfortable walking vertically while I could have, for example, been enjoying a horizontal position with someone who loved me. But outside of a husband, who never complimented me, never truly wanted me, never rushed home to taste my meals and me, and who now at the age of 60 completely gave in to his desire to sleep in separate beds, I wondered, with that sad, sad and sexually infused song, who really loved me. Who loved me like that to make love to me, that sweet soft way like the notes in the song, like the flute and the base, taking the beat from deep within and carrying it far into the universe, where love was possible. I wondered and locked my tears inside, you will cry later, don’t do it now. The singer of that song contributed to my misery. She was one of those young current generation artists who thinks that whisper-singing as if you are fucking, mind you, casually fucking, and over-extending the words like your lips have piercings through the floor – like all that is an art form. It may be sexy, yes. But art form? Paaaa-lease. If anything, all it does to me is get me further depressed on the topic of current generation as further distanced from my own, pointing and reminding me once again of my fucking age. You are almost 40. You are ancient.
So there I was, walking in sadness from the song’s lyrics, sad from the sexually driven music, sad from the singer’s whisper-singing and finally sad when I saw him. My unnamed love was standing where he normally stood, wearing his black soft pants and a white wife-beater, making my hands burn from the desire to touch his every inch and crave to make love to it with my lips. But while I was an all-smashing tornado of affection, he was a frigid iceberg, who noticed me not. Not when I passed by his face into the locker. Nor when I passed him again from the locker to the open training area. He never noticed me and I felt like I did not exist.
It was almost year two since I ceased to exist. Well, truthfully, I never really existed before. I only existed during the few most colorful months of my entire very long and sad life when I loved and was loved. When I met him, not “William” or the “unnamed hero”, but the one my unnamed trainer was sent to replace, the one I tried to forget, and the one I would always remember. I learned for the first time that I am alive. I’ve learned what I am made out of. Learned my strengths and my weaknesses. I learned that I have needs and cravings. I learned that I have a beautiful mouth that can be kissed with so much fervor that turns my insides to melting chocolate. I learned that I have beautiful curves that can be loved with graceful embraces, my spirit that can be put so high on the pedestal of a queen where I can see the entire world from and aspire to shoot higher. I lived every day of that time, becoming more and more beautiful, glowing from inside out, and contracting his disease of youthfulness and energy. And I accomplished what others could not in that short few months we were together, when I thought he loved me. But as everything comes to an end, intertwined by him being a pathological liar and nothing but curious and polite, the melodrama ended as abruptly as it has begun, sending a very clear and devastating message to me for the rest of my life: the end. The end to possibilities of a bright future. The end of youth. The end of feeling special ever again. The end of ever knowing what love really feels like. The end of self-discovery. The end of ever being able to trust again. The end of ever feeling the same about anything or anyone. The end.
And as I passed by the white “wife-beater” whose glance was lost on his phone, I realized this replacement fell short of my expectation for anything miraculous and whatever favor God was making for me to find my strength again did not go down this route. I packed my shit and left the gym.
As I got into my car, I turned to put away my headphones when someone jumped from the back seat of my car and gaged my mouth. And immediately I felt something hard pressed against my temple. “That’s right.” He said to me as I tried to turn my head to see whether it was a weapon. “It’s a gun, alright and if you don’t do exactly as we tell you, you will bite its bullet. Are we clear?” Instinctively I nodded. Anything. Whatever you want. Just please do not shoot. I have a son. He is so tiny. He won’t survive with my husband being completely oblivious to the world. Please! He is all I have. And I am all he has.
“You will do exactly as we say or your little boy will die.” The person on the backseat said. I realized there was more than one person in the car. I nodded.
“You will go back to the gym and walk over to someone that fits the description on this picture.” He took out the picture but before he showed it to me, he said: “You will make sure he follows you to a hotel, Luxury Inn, located in Westbury, choose room on the third floor overlooking the Sunset Blvd, where you will seduce him and get him to sleep with you. We will be nearby taking pictures and you will have to make sure his face can be seen and next to yours.”
I freaked. “But I am married!” I protested. “And why can’t you just hire a prostitute?”
The man behind me pushed the gun harder to my head and it started to hurt. “If you try any funny business, we will be sure to visit John Gerred Preschool, so don’t push it.” He then moved the gun away from my head, slipped the picture in my jacket pocket and motioned me to leave. He didn’t have to ask twice. I literally fell out of the car and rushed, leaving it behind with the two strangers inside, not caring at this point if it gets stolen or damaged.
Live, survive, live, get the fuck away as far as possible! I opened the doors of the gym and they were never as heavy as now. What the fuck do I do? I thought of stopping by the gym security and slipping a note that said I was in trouble, call the fucking police! But I did not have a pen or paper and was terrified the men in the car were watching. I wanted to write some kind of distressed message on my phone and show it to the receptionists as they were checking me in, but wondered if they would know how to respond to this and not make this situation worse by acting weird and taking too long. My mind rushed a thousand ways trying to figure out what to do until I actually stopped to collect my thoughts and looked at the man on the picture. And then as it suddenly occurred to me that the man on the picture wore a white wife-beater and black pants, had black glasses and soft bear, my heart sank, no fucking way!
As I approached him, stupefied with a huge sign all over my head that said CRAZY-ASS STOCKER, I realized I could not open my mouth. He looked at me as if I was interrupting his flow. I immediately felt bad. This was going to be such a weird and bad beginning. And an end. Another end.
“Can I help you?” he asked getting a bit agitated.
“I…” I did not know how to say this. My blinking and staring seemed to build up on his agitation.
“I….”
“Want to be trained?” he asked.
I shook no and lowered my head to his. Tears ran out of me as unexpectedly as the men in the car.
“There are two men in my car…..” I said through the river of emotion. “They have my child.”
“You want to call the cops?” He asked, immediately becoming serious and useful.
“No. I am scared.”
He nodded. “What do they want?”
I stared at him a bit longer and gulped. “They want you.”
He took off his glasses and looked at me. I realized he looked very different without his glasses, but I had no interest in reflecting on this any further. I felt like I was suffocating in feelings of bewilderment, anger, humiliation and fear.
My unnamed hero looked at me with disdain. “Is this a joke?” He said and started to move to go to another machine. “No!” I shrieked as quietly as I could but with so much emotion he realized I wasn’t kidding around. He stopped. “What do they want? Did they tell you? How do they know you? Why did they come to you? Who are you? Who do you work for? What do you want from me?” He began to fire questions at me, getting angry. His attitude said: “Man, I knew you were going to be a trouble. Tried to avoid you, but here you are in full fucking view and it ain’t good.”
I slowly answered. “I don’t know them nor do I know you. I do not work for anyone. They asked me to get you into a hotel so that they can get some dirt on you. I have no fucking idea as to why out of the entire fucking squad of all the pussies you train they chose me for the job who has absolutely no connection to you but frankly I do not care to sit around and seek alternatives because they know the school my child goes to and they put a gun to my head not to mention broke into my car and scared the living Jesus out of me. So excuse me for coming to you, who has complicated my life like never before, but it is either you help me or I figure out a way to help myself while you will still be up to your head in the shit with whatever it is you are playing with those people and why they want to get dirt on you.” I said and began to walk away but he grabbed my arm. “Let’s do it.” He said. “I’ll figure out what to do on the way. I think I know who it is and why they chose you.”
We left the gym as he told his managers he had a stomach virus and needed to leave ASAP so not to leave any surprises behind. We walked around the parking lot and got into his black Audi. I was smitten by thousands of feelings, one of them being more pronounced than the rest. This was my hero, the one I secretly admired over the past four months and for whom I felt the most electric chemistry, loving him as I had never loved anyone – from a distance, that quiet but ever present love of being happy that he exists, that my eyes can rest their glance on him and not be completely tormented by the absence of my prior. I loved coming to the gym knowing that he would be there, sad and serious, throwing boxing punches into air, training and being ever so determined to be the best he can be, while I watched and admired him for that. And here I was in his car, driving with him to a hotel so that we could fuck! Zero to a million in less than fifteen minutes. Is this normal? Is this possible? But this was my life, and in my life, anything at all is possible and I began to allow a tiny bit of humor into this horrible predicament. After all, God is great! I could have never imagined such a twist of fate and He did, I guess want me to have a little fun before I once again ceased to exist.
We opened the doors to Luxury Inn and I instantly felt terrified. We were here. He wrote something in the journal and paid the reception while I tried not to pay attention to the disgusting details. I started to feel dirty and sad. Why must love always feel wrong? With your husband, who was given to you in good and bad, in scarcity and plentiful, who was supposed to write all the wrongs of your prior history and who was the underlying statement of fidelity and appreciation for your entire being, it felt wrong because he was my biggest enemy who has poisoned my heart with years of lonely evenings of missed candle light dinners, years of poor sexual desire of his own physical problems that he blamed on anything and everything related to me, years of tears he chose not to notice, years of silence and avoidance. I stayed because he was my soulmate and I always waited for him to one day wake up and change. He did. But it was too late. My heart was already full of the venom of his wrongs. It felt wrong from the other man I truly loved because I always felt like I was deceitful and hiding inside hotels rather than in the privacy of a warm and peaceful bedroom made me feel not like a woman who is loved, but as a whore that’s being brought to be fucked. And now. This too felt dirty and wrong. Plus it felt surreal. I kept telling myself, this was my unnamed hero, the one whom I had pictured naked so many times during the past four months, the one I ran to see every day at the gym, and who had passed by me as though I was unnoticeable. And he was here, with me, right here, without any of the mandatory standard bullshit foreplay of a fairytale promise. He was here, because we were somehow connected through this unfathomable play of fate and tangling of some threads of circumstances, created not by the criminals of today but by something much bigger and way earlier than this present. But how? I was still wrapped in ponderous silence as I took the elevator up with him to the third floor, realizing the elevator was so small he could feel my breath on his cheek. He looked at me and I felt as if I was pierced with electricity. I lowered my eyes, turning crimson. My heart began to beat stronger and faster. I wasn’t getting enough air and felt like I was passing out. The doors opened and as if realizing I was weak, he took me by the arm and led me out of the elevator. I appreciated his gentleness. He was on my team. He was no longer thinking I am this crazy person trying to bed him, but he understood and believed in our horrible fate that connected us. He was no stranger and tried to make me feel connected. I felt this connection and never felt as close to him as now. He turned to me as he locked the door behind us. I felt my muscles tensing and my mouth felt dry. I needed a fucking cigarette like yesterday! He bolted to the nightstand and began to frantically open the drawers. He took a small notepad and a pen that were inside of it and wrote: “Do you think they are watching us?”
I shrugged my shoulders, took the pen and began to write, but received a buzz on my phone. I saw it had no caller id. I freaked and looked at him, my eyes instantly filling with tears. He put his finger to my lips and pressed the speaker. “I just wanted to tell you that your son is having a recess now and his teacher, Mrs. Bates is very nice. Are you playing nice too?” He asked and added in a stronger voice: “Leave your notes and further rubbish and get to it. You have a half hour. And William, since you are listening to this, no funky business. We have your girlfriend Louisa at our speed dial. And if she matters not that much, then your mother, Mrs. Martinez.”
The phone went dead and William looked at me. I saw terror in his eyes. He may have followed me here half believing in my story or having partial doubts, but they were now all gone. Someone was definitely into him and his fears were now confirmed. I read his mind. He was just as lost as I was and we both felt terrified they were watching us. Terrified at hearing all the names of the people closest to us, scared they were so connected in having so much information and being so much in our business. Terrified at the thought of what these people might do next and what was the purpose of this. But in all this mesh-up of fear and terror upon us, I could not help also feeling sad; sad hearing he had a girlfriend, sad that this joke was becoming bigger than us, sad that we were connected through this ill diaphragm of the dots, sad that he was no longer an unnamed distant fantasy, sad that I was married and not able to ever enjoy a real relationship with him, sad that I was older and forced on him and for the first time realizing that he was here not because he wanted to but because he had to, again feeling unwanted and unnoticeable.
William gulped and forced a small smile. “I guess we better do this.” He said and before I knew what was happening, he took off his jacket and then his shirt until he was once again in the white undershirt. He laid down on the bed and waited for me to come and join him. I took off my jacket nervously and placed it on the corner of the bed. I sat down near it. He kept looking at me serious and sad, just like always. I suddenly realized I had no idea who this person was except that I craved him every day during my hour of evening workout. He felt like a stranger to me. Suddenly I did not want to be touched by him, even for some ill-humored kicks of the demented people that were behind bringing us here together. I wanted to cry. The room began to spin around me. He must have interpreted my facial expression for he got up and took my hand. I jumped. He hugged me and when his mouth found my ear, whispered so quietly and so intently that his words went directly inside me: “You know, I actually always wanted you since I saw you the first time like six months ago.” He said. “Four.” I corrected him, smiling. I suddenly felt as if I gulped down a shot of cognac, feeling hot inside. Hot and moist. He did like me. I did exist in his world. Of course, he has a girlfriend and I am married. Hence he ignored me. But we are here now. And he finally told me how he feels. And it is almost as strong as how I once felt when I was loved and loved another during the most colorful few months of my entire life. I felt so happy like I haven’t felt in a while and my fears dissipated. He took off my shirt and pulled me on him, once again laying down on the bed. Suddenly I realized his mouth found mine and we were kissing. It felt strange at first but his lips were so soft and as I instinctively ran my hand against his face, I felt his soft beard that I used to enjoy so much on the one before him. His lips were so moist and softly tugging at mine, with the rhythm that began to drive me crazy. Tug, tug, and devour. Tug, tug, tug, tug, devour, devour. Devour, devour, devour. I felt for a moment I was falling into a deep hole with no surface, just the hype of falling in one long and unencumbered free fall. He began to unzip my pants and I came back to reality.
“Wait. We are pretending, right?” I asked. He looked deep into my eyes, holding off his response. “If that’s what you want.” He finally said. He took off my pants and slowly removed my thong. I was overwhelmed with my head spinning in every direction. I kneeled to his ear wishing my mouth could open and share what I had wanted to tell him every day for the past four months. I am crazy about you. I wake up every morning thinking that I will see you at night. I go through the entire day thinking that when my eyes see your white undershirt, they will finally have peace. And when you are not there, my heart literally cries. At first, you were a replacement to someone who is the most unique and loved person, who virtually has no replica other than you. You are such a good replica of him that I fell in love with you, not fully understanding if it is because of you or because of him. But as the months went on, I found myself wondering about your story, imagining your life outside of the gym, imagining your name, imagining your habits, what you like. And I realized I was falling in love with you for who you are. I fell asleep so many times, fantasizing to making love with you, to you. I wanted to say so much and with such vigor and heat in my voice. Instead, I whispered into his ear with the same intensity as he did to me. “I am married.”
He nodded understandably and hugged me. Suddenly, as if I was hit from the back by my own self, I felt a blow of hidden emotions that surfaced like thunder. I felt like I was passing up a chance of feeling happy for some stupid societal rule that made no sense to my situation. Did it count if your husband does not sleep in the same bed for already two years? Does it matter that he only appreciates me as a bread-winner and nothing else? Does it count that love died so many years ago when I finally gave up? Does it matter that when I tried to replace it with someone who promised me salvation, I received the same dejected outcome, love is just an illusion. Does it matter that I feel like a withered flower, who will not see the next spring, be happy at the bright rays of sun or glow its beauty to the world? Does it count that I already feel dead and nonexistent.
I cried hard and long. He, of course, did not know the source of my sadness but he kept hugging me, strong and firm, with his boxer’s arms locking around me, holding me tight against his strong handsome chest. And in one next second, I felt all his warmth, his affection and his manliness hit me all at once. I wanted him. He cleaned off my face with a tissue from the tissue box on the night stand and kissed my cheek. I caught his lips and this time kissed him fiercely. If this is my chance for happiness, right here, right now, I want to make the most of it. He noticed my energy and it pleased him. I felt his erection against my leg. I pulled his face away from mine so that he could see my eyes and as I looked at him, I slipped my hand inside his boxers and pulled out his erection. I wanted to look at it and make love to it with my lips but I could not lift my eyes off of William. He was so deeply inside of my eyes, I felt like I was falling down that bottomless pit again and it felt unearthly pleasant. “I am so hard right now” he said. “Please don’t tease me if you don’t plan to …..”
I breathed out the nervous air stuck inside my chest. “Please make love to me.”
He kissed me. “What about your… “ He began to ask and I quickly shut his mouth with my hand. He stopped talking, his eyes locked with mine. I put my finger into his mouth and he sucked on it. I felt spasms everywhere and unable to control myself any further, I lowered my head and took his cock inside my mouth. He gasped and made a small noise. “Oh my God, you are so fucking good!” He said and I got even more inspired. He was enjoying it so much and I was enjoying loving him and looking at him as he kept raising his eyes to the ceiling. At a certain point he had had enough. He turned me so that I could be sitting on him and as he slipped a condom he extended himself inside me. It was the most electrifying feeling. Him. Inside. Me.
He played with my breasts and continued to kiss me while going inside and out of me, and I realized that I couldn’t get enough of his lips and his cock inside me. “You know,” I whispered in his ear, “I wanted you every day during the past four months. I had imagined this so many times, but this feels so much better in reality.”
He looked deeply inside of my eyes. That same sad and serious look and suddenly I saw a new emotion in them, some child-like, wicked, lustful, almost devilish smirk. He picked me up off him and laid me down so I was on the bed now. He got on top of me and placed his hands around my neck. He entered me, and as he began to rock in and out of me, he put one of his hands near my lips with three fingers inside my mouth, and with the other hand continued to squeeze my neck. I wanted to scream from the overwhelming wave of emotions, building between my legs. He knew just how to rock my world. “You are so beautiful.” He said to me and I believe that was the last thing I heard before my bottom broke up in a firework explosion. “Are you okay?” He asked me. “Hey! Hello. Are you good?”
I opened my eyes and saw my friends. Jackie was passing the joint. “You okay?” She asked me. “No more for you, girl.” I agreed. Wow, I thought, realizing my pot-infested brains just played a major fucking trick on me. This was some serious breed. Especially when I am much rare than an occasional smoker. My friends chilled some more but I called Uber. “Come on!” They complained. “No fun without you. You are the heart of the party.” Yes, and I am also the pussy for some nonexistent dick, I thought.
“I have to go.” I said, shrugging, and getting into the car as it arrived instantly in less than minute.
“It’s only eleven!” My friend kept insisting.
“Sorry boo. But I have to go to the gym tomorrow morning.” I responded.
“How do you always stay so determined, God dang. You never miss a day?”
“Nope” I replied. “I never do.” If only she knew why.