Hard Corps (21 page)

When I arrived, she was there at the bus station, all out of breath, waving and smiling at me from the platform. She was about twelve years younger than my mother, and more like a girlfriend than an aunt. Her dark-blonde hair was barely contained in two tortoiseshell combs, framing her round, cheerful face and setting off her large, blue eyes. ‘How are you, Remy sugar?’ She kissed me and then held me at arm’s length. ‘My God, girl. You must be six feet tall! You look like some gorgeous Amazon with your shock of blonde hair and that coppery tan. The Army life is good for you, I guess!’

I laughed and agreed that it was. If she only knew.

‘Listen, sugar. I have a proposal to make. And if you don’t like it, I’ll just change my plans. But you are a grown woman now, after all.’

‘What is it, Aunt Salome?’ I was beginning to worry a little. Aunt Salome’s ‘proposals’ were something to watch out for.

‘Well, darling! Something wonderful’s just popped up. I have a chance to use someone else’s ticket and hotel reservation for Atlantic City! You know how I love to gamble! But I only have the one ticket and it’s only good this week! Of all weeks, when you are coming to see me! But I thought, well, Remy is a woman now. Maybe she can stay here alone and kind of enjoy the solitude. You always were a loner, girl, ever since I knew you, off on your bike God knew where, with a book and a Coke.’

‘Wow, Aunt Salome. Alone? Mom and Dad — ’

‘I called them. I made sure it was OK before I even asked you. Because I didn’t want to offer something they wouldn’t approve of. They said you are old enough to make your own decisions. I told them I wouldn’t go if you want me to stay. I won’t, sugar, if you don’t want.’

What could I say? She looked so eager, even though she was trying to play the proper aunt, willing to stay with little niecey if little niecey couldn’t handle being alone for a few days. In fact, as I thought it over, the idea did rather appeal to me. My very own place for a whole week! After the crowded barracks, a little time alone would be fabulous.

‘Sure, Aunt Salome. You go ahead and have a grand time! I think it would be fun to stay alone! I’ve never done it before. It’s about time I tried it out, right?’

‘Oh, you wonderful girl! You really are grown up now! I’ll be back Saturday morning. So we’ll still have all day Saturday and Sunday to catch up on things. And here: here’s some money so you can buy food and just enjoy yourself. Go to the movies or something. Buy yourself a dress. Do you ever wear a dress? Always the tomboy.’

I interrupted the lecture I knew was about to begin about being a tomboy and not catching a man. ‘Yeah, sure. That would be great. When do you have to go?’

‘Well, my flight’s not till ten tonight, so we even have time for some dinner.’

Tonight! I had thought we would at least have a day or two to visit. But I kept that thought to myself. I didn’t want to make her feel bad.

‘Oh. Well, OK then. I’m pretty hungry, actually. Should we stop off at your place so I can leave my stuff?’ My stuff consisted of my duffel-bag and a backpack full of books I had to read for next term.

‘Let’s go!’ Linking arms, she led me to her bright yellow Porsche, illegally parked in a fire lane. As usual, there was no ticket on the window shield. Aunt Salome got away with everything. After a dinner at her favourite diner in downtown Columbia, I drove her to the airbus stand and we bid our farewells.

Driving slowly back to her apartment, I savoured the unusual freedom of my own car and my own place. Imagine! My own bed with no bunk overhead and no nine other girls tossing and turning around me. I got back to her place, a comfortable, spacious two-bedroom apartment done in pinks and greys. I watched TV for a while and then curled up with a one of my English Lit. books.

I awoke to a beautiful dawn slipping through the slats of Aunt Salome’s bedroom window. So used to rising early from my military life, I jumped out of bed and hopped into the shower. I pulled on my favourite faded dark-blue T-shirt and some cutoffs.

Going into the kitchen, I laughed with pleasure when I opened the refrigerator to a whole shelf of Coca Cola, in the six-ounce glass bottles, just the way I like it. Good old Aunt Salome.

The morning would have been perfect if only I’d had my bike. Still, it was a lovely spring morning and I looked forward to getting out. Armed with a backpack full of Cokes and some good books, I set out for a walk. Leaving Aunt Salome’s apartment building, I made my way down a little hill to a nearby park. The park was empty at this hour; the sun just hitting the trees, promising a warm day ahead. It must have been pretty early still, maybe 7.30. I found a nice little spot on a bench near the fountain to get on with my reading.

I was deep into Walker Percy’s
Love Among the Ruins
when I noticed someone sitting down next to me. Looking up, I saw a young man, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. He was sitting so that the sun hit his hair, lighting it to a coppery red, shot with gold. He looked over at me and smiled. His eyes were what struck me first. They were a lovely blue-green colour that was identical to the T-shirt he wore over blue jeans.

‘Beautiful morning.’ He had that unusual South Carolina accent. It is a rolling sound on the tongue that I’ve never been able to imitate, at once deep South and some kind of European twist that never quite got lost in the melting pot. On him it sounded delightful.

‘It sure is. Perfect spring day.’

‘No work today?’

‘I’m on break. Spring break. I’m a college student.’

‘Oh, that’s neat. Here in Columbia?’

‘No, at Stewart Military Academy.’ I felt vaguely defensive as I said it. Lots of people didn’t understand anyone wanting a military career. But he seemed politely interested.

‘No kidding. What year are you?’

‘Sophomore.’

‘Huh. I never went to college. Just didn’t find the time.’

‘Oh. What do you do?’

‘I’m a writer. I write for various magazines. And I’ve written a few novels.’

‘That sounds so cool! What do you write about?’

‘Oh, stuff.’ He got vague suddenly and looked away uncomfortably.

‘Well. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Remy Harris.’

‘Remy.’ It seemed to roll off his tongue like a round, perfect grape. I was enchanted. ‘Eric Darby, at your service.’ He bowed from the waist as he spoke, in an exaggerated gesture of formal greeting. Suddenly his expression changed from gracious good humour to a scowl. He glared at his watch, as if it were at fault.

‘Oh, shit! I was just going to try and charm you into breakfast with me. Your enchanting beauty must have driven all thought of my dreaded visit with the dentist from my head.’

I laughed, disappointed that he was apparently leaving me so soon, but pleased at his gallant excuse. ‘Well, what reminded you?’

‘My dentist. He’s waving at me.’ Looking around, I saw a tall, thin man in his mid-fifties waving heartily in our direction. Sure enough, above his head, over a bright-red painted door, the word
DENTIST
was neatly etched in black letters on a white sign. Looking apologetic, Eric said, ‘Perhaps tomorrow? Anyway, it was a pleasure. I hope I’ll see you around.’ He loped off, turning back to smile as he disappeared into the dentist’s office.

I watched that red door for a while, wondering if I should stick around and wait. But that would seem too obvious. Anyway, what if he was there for a root canal? He would hardly be in the mood for clever banter with a stranger after that. I sighed, packing up my book. I was even vaguely resentful that I had to move from my cosy spot on the bench, just to prove to him and myself that I wasn’t sitting there waiting for him to come out.

That evening my aunt called. She reported having a fabulous time in Atlantic City. I told her I was having a terrific time as well. I would have been, too, if only I hadn’t met Eric like that. I would have been savouring the Chinese take-out and the video I had rented to watch that evening. I would have been perfectly happy with my quiet evening alone, ending with a hot bath and an early bed.

Instead I found myself inexplicably musing on the stranger I had only met for a few minutes. I could see his handsome face, the blue-green eyes, the glossy, reddish-blond hair. His lips were full and sensual, his jawline firm. I liked the way he held his body, as if he were comfortable with it, with himself. Sitting with my head in my hands, dreaming of this stranger, I realised my problem: I was horny.

As I turned on the hot water and dropped some of Aunt Salome’s bath oil into it, I thought about my situation. Here I was, in a sexual club where I wasn’t even allowed to have sex. Well, that wasn’t strictly true; I was allowed to have orgasms. I was certainly allowed to give orgasms, and to receive the sting of a lash or the burn of a rope. All of which I loved. But I wasn’t, indeed expressly wasn’t, allowed to make love. To lie in the tender embrace of another human being.

It wasn’t that the club precluded me having a boyfriend. But with school and army training and my ‘assignments’, who had the time? Not only that, I didn’t think I could settle for a ‘vanilla’ boyfriend at this point. A timid, cautious, uncertain college boy who barely knew how to kiss a girl, much less leave her weak with passion and desire.

I eased into the tub, soaking in the hot, fragrant water as I ruminated on my plight. Without quite realising it, my hands had found their way to my pussy. Slipping a finger inside, I rubbed the palm of my hand against my clit, enjoying the heat of the water and the pressure of my hand.

The hot water was still on, at low pressure, to keep my bath warm. Suddenly I had an idea that hadn’t occurred to me since high school. When I lived at home, I would often masturbate by positioning myself under the water faucet in the bathtub. It was a safe and easy way to come, without worrying about anyone finding out what I was doing.

Inching forward now, feeling a little silly, but determined nonetheless, I scooched up under the faucet and adjusted the water until it was a warm, forceful spray on my spread pussy. Sighing as the spray hit just right, I held myself open, imagining that it was Eric holding me that way. Eric had taken me home and forced me into the tub. He had held my legs open and wouldn’t let me up until I passed out from coming over and over again under the hot jet of water.

Then he would pull me out, wrap me in a big, warm towel, carry me to the bed, and fuck me silly. Not very imaginative, I admit, but, in my needy state, it didn’t take much. Soon I was coming hard under the water’s intense and direct pressure to my clit. Moaning aloud, I shifted slightly, but stayed under the stream until my shudders subsided into stillness.

At last I felt that maybe I could get to sleep, and I climbed out of the now-tepid water. After wrapping myself in a big, warm towel, I brushed my teeth and went to bed, hoping for sweet and spicy dreams.

*   *   *

The next morning I took more care with my appearance than usual, putting on my only dress, a pretty, soft cotton floral print that was cut close to the body and then flared at the hips, swirling down past my knees. I even put on a hint of make-up, and brushed my hair until it shone in the sunlight streaming through the window. My old, brown leather sandals completed that outfit. It was either them or sneakers.

I found the same bench, again empty, and sat down to wait, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was doing so. After several minutes, I had actually gotten rather involved in my novel and was startled by the sound of a male voice close behind me.

Turning, I saw that it was Eric! He had come back. I couldn’t suppress the smile that burst through my self-promised attempt to be nonchalant. He looked even more handsome than the day before in a black T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and chest. His jeans were faded, with large holes at the knees. His feet were bare. Quite the opposite of military-perfect Jacob, in starched uniform and spit-shined boots. I decided I liked the contrast and definitely preferred the former.

‘Remy! I was hoping I would find you here! For some crazy reason, I can’t get you out of my head. What am I talking about? Nothing crazy about it! A gorgeous blonde with the body of a model and the face of an angel was sitting on a park bench being pleasant to me and I left her to get a cavity filled! I spent all of yesterday cursing myself for being so stupid and not cancelling my appointment.

‘I spent the night alone in my house, miserable that I’d let such a lovely person disappear, maybe forever. I set my clock for five so I would get here at sunrise, just in case you were a very early riser, and just in case you would come back to this bench to read again. Then I fell into troubled sleep and when I woke up the sun was already up in the sky and I was sure I had lost you! The damn clock didn’t go off!

‘But you’re here! You’re here. And you weren’t a dream after all.’ He ran out of breath and fell heavily on to the bench next to me. I was completely dumbfounded by his long and breathless speech. How could this handsome, funny man possibly be so smitten with me?

I suspended disbelief and just sat back, enjoying his show.

‘So, now that I’ve made a complete and total ass out of myself, how about a belated invitation to breakfast? I know a great little dive near here that makes the most incredible corn muffins.’

Laughing, I said I was starving and would love to get some breakfast. We walked toward the little block of stores and restaurants, our arms occasionally touching as we strode along. Each time I felt his skin against mine I felt an uncontrollable little shiver of pleasure. The place we entered was called Pete’s Grill. Eric told me the owner was Greek and they catered to the working man who got up at 4.30 for the early shift. They were closed by 2.00 in the afternoon.

We ordered a breakfast of hot coffee and corn muffins from the counter and then went to sit in a booth near the window. Our food came: long, flat muffins sliced in half and grilled in butter, and big mugs of steamy coffee with plenty of fresh cream and sugar to ladle in the way I like it. For some reason the food tasted incredibly delicious, better than food has a right to taste.

We ate in happy silence for a while. Then, as usual, my curiosity started getting the better of me and I came back to the conversation at the bench. ‘So, I really want to know. What do you write about? What is your area of expertise, or whatever they call it?’