Don't. Please. Don't Make Me

Chapter One-5

“Why'd you run off?” he panted, he came to a halt. “Because I touched you?”

The thought of that touch caused her knees to weaken. “Oh Jeff... look I'm sorry. But please believe me. It wasn't you. I just... just had to get out of there. Had a small panic attack. It had nothing to do with you.”

He eased a little. “I though I had screwed up again. I like you, you know that.”

“Damn, Jeff,” she placed a hand on his chest as he stepped forward. “I like you too, but this is crazy. I'm old enough be your...” she bit off her words; not wanting to perpetuate the cliche. He backed Sue toward her car until she felt the door behind her bottom. He pressed in, leaning her back. Sue felt a bit delirious, like she had had too much to drink. She let go of the front of her blouse to put her arms around his neck as he lowered his lips. His cool hands slipped in, one on each breast, and he squeezed firmly while nibbling at her lower lip.

“God!” she sucked in and opened her mouth to his persistent tongue. His groin rotated against hers and she felt the euphoric feeling of being a woman again. She dropped a hand to his ass and pulled him in. Everything felt young, firm and very hard.

“You like that?” he hissed, lifting her breasts to where he could reach them with his lips; he bit down on first one n****e and then the other.

“Yes. Oh yes,” Sue exhaled, reveling in the exquisite pain his teeth inflicted on each tender n****e. And shamelessly she reached down and ran her hand over the front of his jeans.

“I'm gonna f**k your ass!”

There was an unexpected dread. It felt like a sudden swirl of icy moisture.

It had nothing to do with the weather. It was an emotional wind. The kind of wind that makes you shake yourself. Awakes you.

The euphoria of being a woman snapped like a garter strap. And her desire wilted about her ankles like the silk stockings that the garter might have supported. “Jeff!” she seethed, “Don't!” And she got her hands up, placed them on his chest and pushed. Sue felt him flinch like he had been prodded with a stick.

“What?” he complained bitterly as she pushed him again, forcing him to take a step back.

“This is crazy!” she expounded, pulling her blouse tightly about her chest. “You're just a kid. What right have you to expect that a woman would...” Sue snapped her mouth closed, but the damage had been done. She had sounded stupidly virtuous.

“Fine!” he retorted, stepping back and turning away. “Fuckin' tease. That's all you are.”

“Jeff. I didn't mean...” He took two steps away then came up short and looked back around.

“You're Marcy's mother!”

He smiled, with an animal intensity, and Sue withered inside; turning black and decayed, if that was at all possible. Sue didn't try to deny it. It was plain by the look on his face that he knew. “But how?” she asked.

“Easy,” he said, taking a step back. “You were watching her all night. Am I right?”

Sue looked down at the pavement and shook her head. Oh no!

“And there is a resemblance; about the eyes. And particularly about the mouth. I could see it. And then, when she went to the toilet... you jumped up and were out the door like your ass had caught fire. She's your daughter alright, and you were spying on her.”

The air went out of her. “We had better talk,” she suggested. “Maybe you should get into the car.” And Sue reached for the driver's door-handle.

“We'd be more comfortable in the back,” he snickered.

She looked at him, her eyes empty, her heart void of emotion. “Yes,” she complied, and stepped across to reach for the handle on the rear door.

It's no big deal, Sue tried to convince herself as he placed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her face down. It's been a few years but I still remember how to do it.

Sue had gone into the car head first, and he had followed, pushing her across to where she sat facing him, her back propped against the opposite side. The light drifted in from Jeff's side, leaving him in dark relief. What were the odds that I would park in this spot, she dully thought as he prodded her into position; her feet up on the seat with the light illuminating her from her breasts to her knees. Silhouetted, Sue couldn't make out his features, but in the shadowy gray, she heard him fumble with his jeans; the sound of skin being chaffed.

“Ok,” he uttered, “let's have a look at what you got, low down.”

Sue was resigned to this now, and looking past him, watched the new arrivals to the club line up to produce their driver licenses for the doorman. She had gone numb inside but didn't feel humiliated; didn't feel frightened; didn't feel anything. Just do it and get it over with, she exhaled and reaching down, lifted the hem of her skirt.

“Nice,” Jeff admitted with a sense of deep truthfulness, the rhythm of skin on skin rising in intensity.

“Yes,” Sue mumbled, slipping her thumbs under the elastic of her underpants and, surrendering the last of her dignity, she pulled them down around her thighs.

“Oh, that's so amazing,” he stammered. “I love seeing you like this; baring it all for me.”

“Not so nice as Danny's, though, huh?”

“Danny?”

“The waitress,” Sue jogged his memory. “You had a good long look at that real estate, didn't you? Your tongue was hangin' loose.”

“Your friend the waitress? Her name is Danny? That b***h is in a league all on her own!”

“Yeah. One you'll never get to play in.”

He laughed at that. “Hell, you're outta my league.” And he reached across and snaring Sue's pants with a hooked finger, dragged them over her knees, all the way down to her ankles. “But look around baby, see where you are? Sitting across from me with your p***y lips drooping!”

Sue shuddered to think he was right.

“All prissy and p***y!” he laughed at his own play on words and knocked her knees apart. “Ok,” he leaned back, once again taking up his c**k. “Spread yourself!”

Sue groaned inwardly but reached down and pulled her v****a open for him. “This what you lookin' for?” she sneered.

“It's not Danny's, but its nice!”

“I'm so happy for you,” and Sue worked the folds with her fingers. The sooner this was over the happier she would be. But of course, he had other ideas. He paused for a moment to reach across and with thumb and forefinger, routed out her c******s. It took him time to find it, his inexperience, Sue thought, but he chuckled when he finally closed his thumb and finger around the sensitive nub. And then he squeezed. Hard!

“Ow-w-w-w!” Sue sucked air, bolting upright in her seat. “Easy!” But he just laughed and gripping her around the back of her neck; forced Sue's head down. His p***s bumped up against her cheek and she instinctively gripped him in her right hand.

“Oh no baby,” he wiggled, got comfortable. “Lips only... no hands!”

“Yes,” Sue mumbled, “if that's the way you like it. But first promise me you'll never tell Marcy that I was here tonight.

“Sure, baby. Anything you want!

Sue opened her mouth.

Winter arrived; Thursday, in the predawn hours.

Autumn had hung on, warm and dry, for as long as anyone could remember. But the inevitable had happened and the wind swung, blowing in from the north-west. Arctic cold had swept in and rolling across the lake; had picked up moisture. By the time it hit the eastern shore, that moisture had turned to freezing sleet and snow.

Sue saw the flurries swirling in the light of the street lamps as she readied herself for work on Thursday morning. She snuggled into her full length winter coat, slid on leather gloves and wrapped her scarf twice around her chin. Still in darkness, she coaxed her car into reluctant life and headed for the highway. The drifts hadn't started to accumulate but the forecast on the car radio was dire, warning folks off the roads.

She was halfway to the office when it first occurred to her that she may have made a big mistake. The wind had picked up, turning the snowflakes into white arrows that streamed across in front of her headlights. The road surface turned icy and she eased up on the accelerator but it seemed easier to continue than to turn back.

She opened the office and shook snow from her coat. It was seven thirty when she settled in behind her desk. At eight thirty, she put the coffee on but by nine thirty, no one was there to share a cup. At ten thirty, her boss phoned.

“What are you doing there?” he barked. “There's a storm brewing?”

“Working on the Bakersfield presentation, Sue replied. We're making our pitch next week...”

“Sure. But under the circumstances, we'll reschedule. Now get the heck out of there. The boys at the weather office are predicting the worse storm of the season. Get on home.”

She took his advice. But when Sue got to the parking lot, she realized it was already too late. There was a couple of feet of snow covering her car and the snowplow hadn't been around. She closed the rear door of the building thinking it would be wiser to wait it out and went back to work. At noon, the snow was still piling up and looking through the window, Sue could see that the street below remained un-plowed. Cars, looking like humped white elephants, lined the curb and she began to worry: She was all alone in the building. In the fridge, she found some fruit, nibbled, drank coffee, then, with an ear to the radio, went back to work, pecking at her keyboard.

The snow built up all afternoon. Sue called her daughter at four. Marcy had managed to get to Starr's apartment and was quite happy to stay until the city buses started running again. At five o'clock, the radio was reporting an average accumulation of forty inches. When she looked into the gloom, it looked worse, and still no snowplow. The very real possibility that she might have to spend the night on her office sofa unsettled her but at least the power was still on and she had the radio for company but her stomach was twisting in protest. She was really hungry!

Sue looked out the window again; watched a city slowly strangle on it's inability to deal with mother nature's wrath. A neon flash came from across the street, up at the end of the block. “Bailey's Bar,” the light reflected from mounds of crystalline snow. A blue arrow pointing down a set of stairs. Could they possibly be open? Her stomach growled in anticipation.

It was like walking into an oasis. Warm, damp air washed over her skin as she stamped clods of snow from her boots. A young women was fussing about behind a long stand-up bar. She looked up and smiled.

“Could I possible get a bite to eat?” Sue asked.

“Ow-w-w. Not much 'ere, love. Some bar food, if that's ok. You get caught in the storm, deary?” Her heavy Irish brogue was musical and Sue whimsically wondered if there were any leprechauns about.

“Yes,” Sue answered. “I work across the street. Saw your light.”

“Ah. That's alright then. I'll fix you sump-tin. Got eggs and bread. Just heatin' the oil for chips... for that un over there...” and she pointed.

Sue followed the line of her finger and spied the young man hunched over a corner table; his eyes sliding down the page of the local newspaper. He didn't seem to overhear their conversation, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge them; just kept scanning the page.

“Sit yourself down there,” the barmaid gestured opposite. “Can I get you a wee drinky... just to take care of the stiffness, you understand.”

“Oh please,” Sue replied. “Rum and soda, would be nice; coffee after.”

“Up in a jiff,” the barmaid called out. She served up Sue's drink then disappeared into a rear kitchen. Sue fingered the ice in her glass and took the opportunity to glance across at her drinking companion. He was young. Mid to late twenties; at least fifteen years younger that her forty-two years. He had sculptured features and unruly black hair that was damp and curly. He wore a black denim work shirt that was wet about the shoulders. He had been out in the snow without a jacket. He didn't have the hat... he didn't have the high-heeled boots with fancy stitching... but there was no better description for the weather-beaten young man than “cowboy.”