I am HER... (18 page)

 
"I'm still a little unsettled by all this.  You have your research over my head, and Marcus and my parents have my past and future over my head.  What do I have?  Nothing."
  "You have me. I’m still here, and I’ll help you.  Even if you decide to return to your faithless, prick of a husband,
by your own free will
, I will still help you balance out the financial power in your marriage.  But I WILL state this; I do hope that is
not
the case."
  "Why?  Why do you care if I return to Marcus?   I need to know.  I don't understand anything at the moment, and I
really
don't understand why you want to help me; it just doesn't make sense to me, Z." 
  There’s another long pause.  Wow.  Did Z just dramatically exhale?  Did he learn that trick from me?  Ha!
  "Well, love... To be completely honest, I know my answer will probably terrify you, but I'll tell you anyway.  Basically, I think very fondly of you, though admittedly I don't know you very well...
yet
.  I feel a
connection
to you and I enjoy it.  I can't explain it, and at this point in time I don't really care to try to explain or analyze too closely why that is, but I cannot help but think of you as
mine-
mine to care for, and mine to help."  Long exhale. 
What?!
Why does that seem kind of dangerous, and nice... and
sexy?
  "What the hell does
that
mean?  I’m nobody's.  No one wants me to be theirs, and you shouldn't either."  God, he really IS insane
.  I knew it!
  "I told you, Sweetheart... I can't really explain it and at this point in time I don't want to.  You will just have to accept it.  I am here, I’m going nowhere, and I plan to help you, because I need to... because I
want
to."
  After his statement, I can't think of anything to say.  This is so strange to me.  No one needs me.  I am empty and alone.  No one thinks I'm worth knowing, or helping, or caring for, if they even think of me at all.

 
I don't know what to say to any of this.  I know I should be grateful.  I know I should be happy, but I just feel, well,
numb
actually. And more silence...
  "When did you last have an orgasm, Sweetheart?"   Wow! Topic change. 
Christ!
  My head is spinning.

 
"
Pardon?!”
  "You heard me.  When did you last have an orgasm?" 
  "Um...a while ago."  Jeez, my red face must be burning through the phone.
  "With your husband?  By yourself?  With a toy?  Or the shower-head...? I believe you mentioned."
  "Um, the shower head."  Ugh.  This is SO embarrassing.
  "When was the last time you gave yourself an orgasm without the shower-head?"
  "Never.  I can't.  It doesn't work."   I don't work,
down there
.
  "Can you say the words, 'pussy', 'cock', or even 'orgasm'?"  No
.  No I can't.
  "I don't want to.  They’re gross words.  They're very
ugly
to me." 
  "So 'vagina' and 'penis' are okay?" 
Flinch.
  "No.  Not really.  I don't like those words either. 
Why?
  Ah, this is really…"

 
"Okay.  How do you ask for your pleasure?"
  "Um, I-
I don't
.  I don't talk about this stuff."

 
"Okay.  I want you to think of your vagina, as your 'pussy' from now on.  Pussy sounds much less clinical, and much more sexy, don’t you think?  Tonight, after we hang up, I would like you to touch your
pussy
."  
Flinch
"Can you do that for me?  You don't have to get-off, just touch yourself while thinking
'I’m touching my pussy’
.  Can you do that? It's simple enough, just a little touch on, or even
in
your pussy.  If you do get-off, great.  If not, don't focus or obsess about it.  An orgasm isn't the point of the exercise.  I just want you to think about your pussy tonight.  Okay?"  
HOLY SHIT! 
I can't!  I just...
CAN'T!
  "Ah, o-
kay.
  But why?"  Did I just agree to this? 
What the hell?
  "I'll explain tomorrow.  Tonight, just think about your pussy.  I know
I'll
be thinking about it..." 
Oh. My. GOD!
  Did he just
say
that?!  "... And yes.  I just said that.  Sleep well, love.  I'll call you in the morning."  

 
HOLY SHIT!
  Did that just happen?  This is insanity.  This is crazy!  An
EXERCISE?
  My god, he is the strangest, most dominant man I've ever met.

 
Why does he talk to me like that?  No one talks to me like that.  I’m ‘virgin-sacrifice girl’, not
‘dirty-girl’
.  No one says bad words like that to me.  Touch myself while thinking of it as a
p-pussy
?  That’s just
so
gross.  It's a gross word.  I can't think it.  I can't say it.  I'm
not
that girl.  I don't ever think about my body
down there
at all, if I can help it.

 
God, I remember when I met the shower-head by accident after a particularly aggressive thrusting from Marcus a few years ago... Oh
god,
it hurt.  I remember I asked him to slow down.  I remember lying there tense, gritting my teeth.  I actually started counting in my head during the sex.  I counted seconds until I hit five minutes, hoping it was almost over.  It figured,
that
night Marcus went for almost 10 full minutes.  It was brutal.  When he was finally done, he kissed my forehead and said, ‘That was awesome, honey’. Uh huh. 
Right.
  But like an idiot, I just smiled at him. 
 I remember the shock of the pain when I stood up to use the bathroom.  It was excruciating- much worse than usual.  Stumbling to the bathroom, I dropped the sheet to get in the shower, and there was blood on the sheet.  I was shocked.  Blood...
again?
What was I?  A
VIRGIN?
  I remember laughing at the absurdity of bleeding again, and realizing I
definitely
needed lubricant in the bedroom from that night on.
  In the shower, I remember I turned the shower-head to the light pulsing mist to clean away Marcus from my body.  It hurt like hell, but there was another feeling as well.  I remember pausing and just holding my breath.

 
Strangely, the small pulsing of the water felt
good
.  Eventually, I sat on the edge of the shower and just let the streaming pulse stay right where it was on me,
down there
.

 
I remember, it felt good, if not a little intense.  But I waited.  I remember holding my breath, and forcing myself to stay right where I was.  Even when my legs started shaking, and my hips began moving on their own, I waited... And then there was another little feeling.  It was like when I'm about the sneeze... a kind of
hiccupped
breath, and then a little exhale from inside my body,
down there
.  It was nice, and slightly exciting.  My body even relaxed a little afterward.
  So... my
pussy
.  Yuck.  But at least I'm not stuttering the word anymore.  Why is it called that anyway?  I know many people say it.  I've heard both men AND women say it.  It just sounds so derogatory.  Then again, vagina sounds clinical and foreign.  I'm not really comfortable thinking about my body like this at all, no matter what I call the parts.
  Well,
that
little exercise was useless.  I'm tired.  It's after 2:00am.  I should be thinking about important things, like Marcus and my parents, and what exactly they’re going to do to me- NOT about my …
whatever.
I’m not doing it, so I don’t have to say it. Suppressing a little laugh, I'm done.  I need sleep.  I am so tired... 

                                  CHAPTER 9
  Waking to the bright sun, my face feels almost sunburned.  It's only 8:23, but I feel fairly rested.  Maybe, I'll go buy a proper breakfast in the hotel.  I wonder if they’ll take cash in the dining-room, or if they only accept credit cards again? 
  Hopping in the shower, which does NOT have a shower head, I try to think about my body again,
down there
.  Z wanted me to think about, touch myself, and to get familiar with the word.  But I'm not 'in the mood’.  I don't think I've ever
been
’in the mood’.  I don't even know what
that
particular mood feels like.  I never touch myself, it just seems silly somehow, or dirty, but not in a good way.  Not in a Kayla, dirty-girl kind of way.  Ugh!  Screw her!  I'm not thinking about
HER
anymore.
  I love reading my horrifically graphic, raunchy novels, but even then, when the women touch themselves, I read about it with a kind of detachment.  I don't get it.  Touching myself does nothing for me.  I've inserted a tampon and felt more inside, then when I have purposely decided to touch myself during the
what?
  Two or three occasions...
ever.
  Nope.  I'm not doing it.  What can Z really do anyway?  It's not like he can force my hands down there.  He'll just have to get over it.
  Shaving my legs and armpits feels good.  It's been a few days, oh actually, it's been since Thursday night for my legs, but Friday morning for my armpits.  Gross.  No wonder my underarms felt all stubbly.  Thank god, I threw pretty much everything I own in way of toiletries into my luggage. 

 
Grabbing a bottle of my vanilla-jasmine scented body scrub, I vigorously scrub my arms, thighs, chest and feet.  My feet have a tendency to get all dry and scaly, probably from all the heels I torture my feet with.  There, all done.  My body feels smooth again.  No little bumps or nasty dry skin, only scented smoothness.
  Out of the shower, I moisturize my whole body with my favorite vanilla-jasmine scented lotion.  It's kind of thick, so it always seems to really get into my skin, and it holds the moisture for a while.  I love the feeling of touching my legs hours after shaving and moisturizing, and they still feel heavily moisturized and soft.

 
Drying my hair takes forever.  My hair is down now to my lower back, but it’s lovely, well kept, and perfectly straight. I love my long hair, but no one really sees it down but me... and Marcus, I guess.  I always wear it up at work.  I don't want to look like a 'bimbo' or too young and stupid, or unprofessional by having it hang down my back.  I’ve always wanted to be taken seriously and professionally at work, and that would have been a little difficult if I was walking around with a ponytail bouncing around my head in the office.
  God, my mother has always
HATED
my long hair.  She insisted until I was married that I must keep it short, in a 'sharp' style, 'that reflected my breeding'.  After the first year of marriage, she finally gave up making little comments about 'letting myself go', or 'ruining my appearance' with ‘such
dreadful
hair'. 
  Marcus would laugh along with my mother, and tease me about my growing hair. He would joke with her, saying, eventually I would stop being so stubborn and immature.  My mother would always smile at Marcus and say, "I hope you're right, dear."  And I would just sit there,
IN THE ROOM,
while they bantered back and forth, talking about me while ignoring me completely.
  Applying my make-up is easy.  I only have two things to work on; my lips and eyes.  I wear no other face make-up, concealers, or blushers.  Easily, I apply a pale pink lipstick which brings out my pouty full lips shape and size.  And second, the only
real
effort I ever put into my make-up is on my eyes.  I apply long sweeps of dark blue shadow in the crease, light brown shadow on the lids, and a silver shimmer along my lashes.  Finishing with dark mascara, my eyes look so large and blue, it’s quite lovely... maybe even
‘alluring’
.  I love my eyes.  My eyes scream 'look at me' without being the kind of girl who screams,
LOOK AT ME!!
  Dressing is easy this morning.  I put on a black cami with a pushup shelf, no bra required and a black blouse over the cami for modesty.  And rounding out the look is a simple black skirt.  There, I’m done.

 
See, an entirely monochromatic wardrobe is easy.  No matching colors.  No question of shoes.  No question of jewelry matching.  A couple simple pieces of jewelry, and a pair of black heels, Jimmy Choo's this morning, to be exact, and I look totally complete and 'polished', as my mother would say.

                                
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