My Body-His Marcello (32 page)

“
Hmmmmm, Janice helped me out ...”

“
What
is she talking about?” Luke said to Janice.

“
I
haven’t the foggiest.”

“
Luke
toooooo ...”

Then Janice began
to talk to me like I was a retarded child and I wanted to smack her
upside the head. I made an attempt to hit her but she thought I was
reaching in for a hug.
Not hug
, I thought,
slug. Slug
you
.

“
Jane,” she said, “What did you mean when you said I helped you
out?” She spoke slowly as if the comprehension level was beyond my
capabilities.

“
It’s
time for a long nap,” I said, closing my eyes and resting my head
on Marcello’s shoulder.

“
Oh
fuck, she might have taken my sleeping pills.”

“
Bingo,” I said, trying to reach my nose with my finger to
symbolize she got it right. My motor skills had greatly diminished
by that time.

They placed me in
Marcello’s car and rushed me to Hollywood Memorial
Hospital.

That day I
learned that you should avoid having your stomach pumped at all
costs. My experience at that hospital was akin to enduring a root
canal or being a child in my mother’s house again.

My mother
continually and chronically annoyed me with her physical presence
in my small room until the psychiatrist rescued me by limiting her
visitations to an hour every three days. You can only hear “I told
you so” so many times before you want to strangle a
person.

I said all the
right things to the county headshrinker and he granted me two
options. He could have me committed against my will—in which case I
would only get out when the doctors deemed me ready—or I could sign
myself into a luxurious stress unit called the Seaside Retreat for
which my mother had already offered to pay. I picked the latter and
felt utter relief when he told me I couldn’t have visitors for a
month. A month alone with one’s thoughts isn’t necessarily a good
thing, but it was better than having to see the disappointed and
sad faces of my friends.

* * *

I had individual
therapy every other day and group therapy daily. I shared a few of
my senseless dreams with the group, but stopped when one day the
psychologist asked me to talk to the chair from one of my dreams to
find out what it wanted. She pressured me to act it out during
group, but I adamantly declined.

I never did dream
about the vault again but I had many nightmares from which I awoke
with tears on my cheeks. There was one that stood out more than the
rest. It occurred after I had been incarcerated for two weeks. I
chronicled it in my journal:

I spent most of
my time at the Seaside Retreat sleeping the day away in my twin bed
in a small square room. Hearing a noise, I opened my eyes and could
see the moonlight shining through. A silhouette cast its shadow and
I heard a knocking that seemed to come from the window.

Throwing off the
covers, naked, my heart racing, I took two steps and found the type
of window we had at the beach house. Unlocking the latch between
the panes of glass, I lifted the window to see Luke staring back at
me. I popped out the screen, unsure of how I should be
feeling.

Luke threw a
large backpack ahead of him and climbed through into my
room.

He swept me up
in his arms; “good” Luke had come for me.

Overcome with
relief, I sank into his embrace. All my wishes had come true with
that first touch, but I kept looking over my shoulder into the
hallway for Marcello.

“
Oh,
Jane, I can’t live without you,” he said and kissed my forehead,
bringing my attention back to him.

That one gesture
took all the pain and fear away.

“
I
have tried,” he continued, “but I’m lost when you are not in my
life, not in my heart.”

With a broad
smile I said, “I’ll pack and we can leave.”

“
I
can’t wait … must be inside you now,” he whispered.

“
Good” Luke lifted me into his arms and lowered me onto the
bed. Without disrobing, he lay down next to me and cuddled me to
him. When his lips touched mine, a current rippled over my
skin.

He cupped my
face and said, “Breathe into my mouth and I will take it in and
then I will do the same to you.”

I exhaled breath
into his mouth. After inhaling deeply, he filled me. Once his
breath swirled within me, I felt the power of his energy. All the
vacillation between Marcello and Luke ceased to exist.
Luke
was my salvation.

He stroked my
face then trailed his fingers down my neck to my breast. “Love your
big nipples, my Janey.”

As he lowered
his mouth to my peaks, I saw that he was now naked. His rigid cock
lay against my thigh, a pearl of pre-cum glistening on the tip. I
became fixated with how beautiful and inviting it seemed. Shifting
closer, I sucked his cock into my mouth, tasting him, savoring his
flavor.

I danced my
tongue around his phallus. Wrapping my hand around the base of his
cock, I stroked it in rhythm with my mouth as I swirled my tongue
around and around.

He groaned,
driving his hips in tempo with my frolicking.

“
Now,” he growled and flipped me over onto my back.

Sliding easily
into my wet pussy, he started thrusting within me—gently and slowly
at first. As he continued his strokes, he kept subtly increasing
the tempo and depth of penetration until his pace was
frantic.

I watched Luke’s
face as he brooded over me. His features slowly started to shift
from extreme ecstasy to a frightening mask of anger as his ears and
neck turned bright red.

“
Bad”
Luke was back.

He jumped off me
and squatted down next to the mattress. Unzipping the backpack, he
pulled out the kind of rope he used in his photography.

Jerking my arms
behind my back, he used the long beige rope to fasten them. Then,
stringing the rope around the front of me, he wrapped each breast
until they bulged out.

I felt
petrified, peering into his eyes. He looked crazed and determined
as he retrieved two nipple clamps from the backpack.

“
Only
sluts have nipples like yours and they need to be punished,” he
said in a voice I did not recognize.

Crudely pinching
and pulling, he brought my nipples to their crowning against the
panic that had made them soft. He clasped them both with the ragged
teeth of the clamps, causing me to screech.

Looking to the
door and into the hallway again, I wondered if anyone would rescue
me. Where was Marcello?

Then “bad” Luke
said something to me that I have yet to get out of my head. He
said, “I have to cause you pain for me to love you.”

In the dream, I
screamed over his words but embraced the agony of the rope and
clamps.

He pulled a
large toy with a bulbous ball at the end out of his bag and turned
it on high. As he forced it against my clit, the vibration scorched
my nerve endings. The torture brought my body to multiple
excruciating orgasms. Once he finally pulled the vibrator away, I
collapsed to the floor.

I awoke in a full
sweat, looking around the space of my confinement. I cried out, but
no tears flowed and no one came to comfort me. I wanted Marcello to
come to me the way he had after I had a bad dream at his house. He
just held me and soothed me, letting me cry. That left me wondering
which of the men I really loved.

I spent a lot of
time pondering that dream over the next few weeks. What Luke said
in the dream:
I have to cause you pain for me to love you
,
left me wondering if that was the truth. Had Luke’s childhood given
him a warped sense of love? Had mine?

The statement
also left me wondering about Marcello. In reviewing his
behavior—especially the most recent time at his place—I concluded
that he was more emotionally healthy than the rest of us.
Debauched—for sure—but somehow whole as well.

The psychologist
at Seaside encouraged me to write it all down—mainly because she
believed it to be fictional and me to be delusional.
They
believed I could purge myself of my demons by writing them out. The
doctor wanted me on medication but since I had committed myself, he
couldn’t very well force me. The group facilitator wanted me to cry
but the tears had ceased to flow.

In this way, too,
my body had betrayed me. When I wanted,
needed
, my tears to
be in check they poured down my face and when I lived in the very
place where their cleansing would heal me, they had dried up
altogether.

I played ping
pong, cards, and board games with the other crazies. I made no
friends. I talked little in group therapy and got even less out of
individual therapy. How can you work through something that the
doctors don’t believe ever happened? They were so focused on my
delusions they never bothered to help me figure out why I had
embarked on my path of self-destruction.

One thing that
helped me get through those days was the letters from Marcello. The
first one arrived after only three days. With the advent of email
it had been many years since I’d received a snail mail letter. His
read:

Dear
Jane,

I hope you are
finding what you need at Seaside Retreat. If not, there are other
places that can be looked into. Janice and I are here when you
decide to leave. I’ve thought a lot about the last several months
and my part in it. I am very set in my ways but should have been
more sensitive to the person you are. I have learned a lot from the
last few months and have found reason to pause.

I always assumed
anyone could be trained, for lack of a better word, to our
lifestyle. I’ve now come to believe that temperament must be
considered. I saw you as a strong, independent woman and I still
do. I’ve also come to realize that your need for love and
connection is your highest driving force, and Luke seemed to miss
that about you.

I hope you will
let me help you when are ready to face the world again. If you need
anything, just let me know.

Ciao,

Marcello

I felt so
grateful for that letter and yet a part of me wished Luke had
written it. Marcello’s letters arrived at regular intervals and in
each letter he disclosed more about himself. As the days passed
with no messages from Luke and more letters from Marcello, my
loyalties became increasingly clouded. Marcello didn’t mention Luke
until his last letter, which I read over and over again.

Dear
Jane,

I had hoped to
receive a letter back, assuring me you are okay. They won’t put my
calls through and are unwilling to update me on your condition.
Both Janice and I are worried over what you must be going through
and want you to know—as I’ve written before—that we are both here
for you. Janice is still concerned you haven’t forgiven her for
fellating Luke at my direction.

Neither of us
considered the consequences our behavior would have on you because,
amongst our group of people in this lifestyle, sharing a partner is
a given. I know you think I set out to destroy you and Luke but
that was never my intent. I assumed that, because Luke isn’t one
for longevity, he would dispense with you like the others. We all
knew you were different than the women before you. We just didn’t
realize to what extent.

Until Janice
told me the other day, I didn’t know that this was your very first
foray into domination and discipline. I don’t think you were
properly acclimated to our lifestyle and I regret my part in
that.

I thought you
might like to know that your belongings are at my place when you
need them. The beach house has been put on the market, so we had to
get your things out right away. Luke hasn’t been in touch but I do
know that he is still in Japan. A friend of Janice’s saw him there
and it doesn’t seem as though he plans to return to the
states.

Janice sends her
regards and hopes to see you soon.

Ciao,

Marcello

I couldn’t fathom
that Luke would never return to the states, that I would never see
him again. Somehow I saw his absence as positive. If he was truly
unaffected, why stay away? As twisted as it sounds, it made me feel
better that he hurt as well.

* * *

By week four I
began counting the days until visitors were allowed.

In a way the
doctors were right about my delusion: I believed that Luke would
come to see me as soon as he could. Whether I still wanted him was
in question, but I still wished for an apology for everything he
had done. The possibility of seeing Luke kept me going throughout
that month—that and Marcello and his letters. I
hung onto
a glimmer of hope that Luke and I
could both heal our damaged childhoods together. Although
by
then
I
knew it was not in my best interests to try, I was
still determined to see him again.