Strapped (29 page)

The hotel is several blocks away, but I welcome the walk since I have been shuttled around in a car way too much these days. I make sure to stay clear of Harrison’s line of vision until I am sure I am too far away to be spotted. It takes me about ten minutes to get to the hotel. This time I don’t have a key, but one of the double doors has been left ajar for me. The suite is very large, just as large as Taylor’s suite in St. Petersburg, with several separate rooms. A room of this size seems unnecessary for an afternoon delight, but this is Taylor we’re talking about. I peek into the corner where he was seated last time, but there is no one there.

“Hello?” There is no response. All the lights are off. The sitting room looks completely undisturbed. I slowly walk into the bathroom just off of the sitting room. There is no sign of anyone and it also appears undisturbed. Out of the corner of my eye, I think see a figure. I quickly turn, but the room behind me is empty. Carefully, I walk into the bedroom, which is also empty. I look at the bed to see if anything has been left for me, a trademark of Taylor’s, but there is nothing. A mixture of trepidation and excitement make my temperature rise. I remove my trench coat and throw it along with my purse on a chair at the corner of the bedroom.

“Taylor, I’m here! This is weirding me out a bit.”

I know he is playing a game, he said it right on the card, so I try my best not to let on in my voice how nervous this entire thing is starting to make me. I spot another door, not being sure what is on the other side, I open it tentatively. It’s another bathroom, empty just like the other one. The closet. I slide the large closet door open. A single empty hanger sways ever so slightly from side to side. No sign of Taylor. I like games, but it is tough to play a game when you don’t know the rules or the object. Maybe I should give Taylor a ring and let him know that my lame ass sucks at this game. I turn to retrieve my purse and what I see makes me nearly jump out of my skin.

A tall man, completely covered head to toe in a leather suit, is just a foot away from me. He stands there in silence. I have no idea how long he has been there.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I can tell from his stature that it’s Taylor and then I remember having seen a small collection of leather and latex articles in a wardrobe in the darkroom. When I asked, he told me the ones that cover his entire body are called zentai suits. I wasn’t expecting to be introduced to one of them today. Once the residual shock passes and I take a few breaths, I am finally able to say something.

“Taylor, you scared the shit out of me...”

He puts a finger over my lips and I stop. I take him in one more time and I can’t believe it, but there is something incredibly sexy about him in this outfit. It might be the way the tight suit hugs the outline of his entire physique, each muscle defined by the slick, cold leather. There is also something about the silence, the complete anonymity that is arousing. He is the embodiment of pure sex, a sexual object, nothing more right at this moment. This is certainly not the way I expected to reunite with him, but I’ll go with it. His covered hand reaches around my waist and pulls me up to his body. His hardness presses against my belly. I reach around his cold, covered head to kiss him, but realize I have no access to his face. I lightly kiss the leather where his mouth is covered and leave the faint imprint of my berry lipstick on the suit. I am unsure of what to do next, he is standing right here in front of me, but he is completely inaccessible. His hand glides down to my bottom and he picks me up effortlessly, taking me to the bed. He pushes up my skirt and pulls up my shirt, gliding his cool gloved hands over my stomach and breasts. He pauses and reaches one hand below. I hear sound of a zipper and I know what is to come next. There are no fancy positions or dirty talk, yet this is nothing vanilla. He pushes his way inside of me. I clench the sheets at both sides. I feel no urge to say his name, because while I know he is in there, he is disconnected. I am with the deepest recesses of Taylor’s sexual psyche. I am with his id. This is the embodiment of that faceless, featureless, dark part of him.

I’ll admit, at this moment, I don’t care about emotion or love. He is a walking tool for my pleasure. He is mine and though he is on top of me, I feel as though I own him. His hands hold my breasts as he thrusts, his hips rhythmic and purposeful. He knows exactly how to move to take me over the edge. I clench around him, all the energy concentrating to this one spot until it can be held no longer, contracting and exploding like a supernova. This time I don’t call out his name, instead I growl, I cry out, like an animal in heat. He maintains his silence, but I feel his body tense and relax as he comes just after me.

I lie in the bed, staring at the ceiling while he pulls off of me. I don’t expect him to break out of his current persona and be my regular Taylor, and so I don’t say a word to him. Another sex hangover with Taylor starts to creep in. It’s a heady buzz mixed with that tainted feeling that comes after anonymous sex. I hear the door close to the room and just like that, he is gone.

I wash up and grab a cab back to the office to ensure my lunch break isn’t too long. The cab driver does not question why I want to be dropped off at the rear of the building. I’ll wait for Taylor to get in touch with me about plans for tonight. Sometimes, I just need a break after these afternoon “lunches.” I don’t get a message from Taylor until just after five.

Mr. SexyPants:

Checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a while I know you’re probably busy. Do you want to do dinner at my house? I can start it now so it’ll be ready by the time Harrison brings you home.

Shyla:

Of course! Dinner at your place tonight sounds like a nice change of pace. Can’t wait to hear how everything went. I’ll see you at 6. OXOX

On my way out of the office I spot Chad, whom I have only seen in meetings today.

“Hey you! How did last night go with Kristin?”

“It went well. She was so excited about the Chinese food. She had a feeling you put me up to it. You haven’t spoken with her today? She mentioned something about her cousin trying to get a hold of you.”

“No, it’s been a busy day! That’s weird, I haven’t seen any calls or anything. I’ll follow up with him tomorrow. I am beat. Did she say it was an emergency or anything?”

“I don’t think so, she was just supposed to get you to call him I think. Which leads me to wonder why in the world are you calling her cousin if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s doing some family history research for me. Long story. Looks like you get to talk to my best friend more than I do!” Chad smiles. “I gotta run. This time I have a dinner date!”

As usual, Harrison drops me off at the front door. From there he usually goes into the guest house where he stays unless he is taking the night off. I notice a small yellow bubble mailer sitting just in front of the door addressed to Taylor. I grab it on my way in. The aroma of marinara sauce wafts in the air. Smells like Taylor has pulled out the ancient book! I walk into the kitchen where I see pots of various sizes emitting steam on the range. Taylor emerges from the hallway. His hair appears be wet from a recent shower.

“Hey pretty lady.” I drop everything on the counter and walk up to him, he dips me and gives me a big kiss. Wow. He is in an exceptionally good mood. He smells of fresh soap. The smell reminds me how much I missed him. “You look beautiful today.”

“Why thank you! You seem to be a 2000 on the 1-10 Taylor Holden scale of bubbliness.”

“Eric being gone of course and happy to see you.”

“I’m happy you’re back too. I figured about Eric, but tell me more.”

“I’ll tell you the details over dinner. It’a a long story, but then again, what isn’t with my life?” We both smile.

“Can’t wait. I’m so glad this whole fiasco is over. I don’t know if I can take anymore high-speed chases.”

“I think they made you hot for me.”

“It doesn’t take much for that. Leather suits for example...” Taylor gives me a quizzical look and I laugh, but blush a little. I dared to mention the anonymous encounter. “Oh, nevermind! What have we got here? Spaghetti and meat sauce?”

“I’ll keep that in mind, kinky one. Yes, this is actually my dad’s recipe. One of the very few dishes I know how to make from memory. Taste.”

“Wow Taylor, that is delish! I’ve been eating like a bachelorette while you’ve been gone.”

“I think you’d have rickets or scurvy or something if you didn’t eat with me.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“I would say you are in fact, that bad.”

“Hey, I managed to survive thus far until you came into my life and saved me with your delicious gourmet wines and vegetables. I desperately need to get into something more comfortable. Be right back.” I step into the hallway and it hits me that there is something I forgot to tell him. It takes me a second, but it finally comes to mind. I yell out from the hall. “Oh-Taylor! It looks like there was some sort of package you missed today. It was sitting in front of the door. I placed it on the counter.”

I need some freshening up, so I rinse my face off and I go into his dresser for an old T-shirt. I put my hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of my face. The first signs of hunger start to come fast and furious so I skip out to the hallway. I love it when Taylor is cheerful especially now that I know why it can be so hard for him to feel anything at times. I skip down the hallway.

“Taylor! I am soooo hungry! We’re gonna need a salad bowl for --.” Then I see it.

I cannot fully describe my feelings during those seconds as my brain registers what my eyes are viewing on the flat screen TV in the great room, but I’ll try. It’s the surreal experience when the world begins to move around you as if, for a moment, it slows down on its axis and you are aware of everything yet can process nothing. The floor below me feels as if it is shifting and my vision tunnels to only the relevant images before me. On the screen is me lying in bed moaning, the leather-covered figure above me, thrusting. Taylor is sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, a look of complete dismay on his face.

My throat goes completely dry. I know something is terribly, terribly wrong from the look on his face. I can hear the shakiness in my own voice as I ask: “Taylor...what is going on?”

He looks up and the mix of rage and pain on his face is peppered with tears, sparkling in the darkness, as the light of the TV reflects on each one. “How could you?”

“Taylor, what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

“What the fuck do you think I am talking about?”

“Taylor. I don’t understand.” The sheer weight of emotion and uncertainty of the situation makes me start to cry.

“You don’t understand? You don’t understand! Are you blind?” He points to the television. My body is exposed now, the black figure engulfing me.

“What? That’s you Taylor! That’s you!”

“Oh god!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s not me Shy! That’s not fucking me!” He nearly wails these words.

“If this is one of your games, it’s not funny.” The tunnel starts to shrink, my legs start to feel prickly.

“It was dated this afternoon. Is that when this happened?” His voice sounds like a distant cry. I fall to my knees. This can’t be. My life has become a Shakespearean tragedy. He runs up to me and gets on his knees. “Shy, you have to stay with me. When was this?”

“Turn it off. Turn it off!” I scream. I cannot be a witness to my rape. He pauses the scene. It remains frozen in time in front of me. “This afternoon. Around noon. You sent me flowers...”

“Shy. I didn’t get back until four. I didn’t send you flowers.”

“You sent me flowers!” I scream. “I read the card, you told me to meet you at the hotel.”

Taylor’s voice softens. “Shy. I never sent you flowers or a card. I sent you a text that I was running late and that I wouldn’t make it back until the afternoon.”

“I never got anything like that. I only got the one about dinner.”

“What the fuck is going on Shy? Please be honest with me.”

“Taylor. I can’t deal with these mind games. This isn’t some sick fucking game of yours is it?”

“No! I would never do that to you! You have to tell me how you ended up there.”

“I never got that message. I only got flowers and a card to meet you at the same hotel as last time. I snuck out and met you...or so I thought.” I watch Taylor’s face as he processes my story. He paces around, his lips moving as he tries to match it with his version of events.

“Where’s your phone?”

“It’s in my purse.”

He grabs my phone and looks through the text and call history. “Shy you didn’t get any of my texts until the one I sent at 5:13. That’s why I asked if you were okay, I hadn’t heard back from you. In fact, it looks like you had no activity until this evening. Someone had to have hacked your phone.”

“What? This can’t be happening.”

“Shy, you have to tell me the truth. Did you really think that was me?”

“Yes! How much different was that meeting than what we have done in the past? I still can’t believe it wasn’t you! He was your height and...Oh god.” The reality sets in at that moment. If it wasn’t Taylor, then who else could it be? Who else knew about us and is the same height? Who would want to throw this in his face? Taylor slowly walks into the kitchen, his movement is painfully slow yet unpredictable. He glides like a cat and then suddenly he explodes. He takes the pot of sauce and throws it against a wall creating a red steamy mess.

“That motherfucker! That piece of shit! I will fucking kill him!” He starts tearing the kitchen apart.

“Taylor!” My screams get Harrison’s attention as he runs into the house, gun in hand.

“Not now Harrison!” Taylor commands. Harrison looks at me, his cool expression barely hiding his bewilderment.

“Everything is okay Harrison. Please leave. He just found out some bad news. Please, just go.”

Harrison hesitantly backs away “Let me know if either one of you need anything,” he says slowly closing the front door behind him.

“Shy, this is my fault. This is all my fault. I am not mad at you, I am just mad. I believe you. I would never wish this on anyone. I would never want anyone to go through what I have been through.” Tears stream down his face. “I’m gonna fix this, Shy.”

“Taylor, please, let’s just go to the police.”

“And tell them what? That we just know that it’s Eric in that suit? That you didn’t consent, because it sure as shit looks like you are enjoying yourself.” He winces and clenches his fist as he registers that last fact. “Oh god!” He looks sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry Taylor. I’m so sorry.”

“That son of a bitch. I bet there are no prints. He wore that fucking zentai suit. He had this planned all along. That sick fuck.”

“But why? Why would he come all this way just to do that?”

“He wants to destroy me. There is no rhyme or reason. I can’t believe this.”

“I thought you said he was gone.”

“He is supposed to leave this evening and you were with Harrison. I didn’t expect anything to happen.”

“It’s not Harrison’s fault. I snuck out.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I thought you wanted me to!”

“You never follow the fucking protocol!”

“This is not my fault! What are we going to do? Maybe I should at least file a police report.” The thought of trying to explain this scenario to the police makes me realize that will be much harder than it sounds.

“Did he...did he protect himself? Nevermind, I can’t take this right now.”

I don’t say anything. I washed up at the hotel before going back to work. He has committed the perfect rape.

“I have to leave. I have to go. I need to clear my head. You don’t deserve to see me like this, this is not your fault.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I have to get out of here. This house is suffocating me. I need to clear my head.”

“Please,” I beg through the tears.

“Shyla. I need to figure out how I am going to fix this. Alone. I’ll be back.” He takes my face and holds it close to his. “Please trust me. I need some time and I will come back.” He grabs his keys and I hear the door close behind him.

Here I am. Sitting on the floor, alone, in a big glass castle. The frozen image of a stranger in a black suit laying over my body, a cruel reminder of deceit, just fifteen feet away from me.

***

I can’t move, paralyzed by the gravity of it all. I can’t tell anyone because I don’t even know where I could possibly start. I welcomed him in my arms. I kissed his face. I pulled his hips toward mine as he thrusted. How could I explain this to someone? I can’t even explain my consensual relationship with Taylor to anyone. I’m not sure how long I sit on the floor, but eventually, I stand up and turn off the television screen and fix the only thing I can right now: the kitchen. It takes me a while to find the supplies, since Taylor insists that I don’t bother cleaning. The warmth of the soapy water in the bucket is the only thing I can feel through the numbness. The monotonous pattern of scrubbing, rinsing, and wringing the washcloth is hypnotic and oddly soothing.

“Let me take care of that.” It’s Harrison.

“No thank you. I’ve got this.” I am nearly catatonic. He steps away, but minutes later I hear him come back with a mop. He is going to help me whether I want it or not. I deliberately clean the kitchen very slowly for I am afraid I will be alone with my thoughts with nothing left to occupy them. An hour or so later, the kitchen is spotless and there is still no word from Taylor. How could he just leave me like this? I float aimlessly through the house trying to find something. What? I don’t even know. I end up in his bedroom. I punch the keypad to allow myself into the darkroom. Taylor gave me the code just days ago because he felt that I should have the same level of access as him. It’s my first time in the room alone. Just like the first time he let me in, I examine all the instruments, many of which I still have not been submitted to, wondering, almost longingly now, if that day will never come. I liked it. I came. This is not what rape is supposed to feel like. He was an instrument like the ones surrounding me, just as I was an instrument of revenge for Eric. I just can’t feel betrayed by an instrument. If he had shown his face, it would have been different. I know this is wrong and I feel angry, but I don’t feel violated, not in the way I expect I should. What hurts more than anything is seeing Taylor in pain. This only serves to make the guilt more potent.
I am vile. I am a whore.