Abuse (22 page)

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

― C.G. Jung

~~~

Renata Koreman

Grant’s coming to pick me up this morning at nine. I’m dressed for the outdoors in cut-off jeans, Nikes and a light blue T-shirt. I even have a hat and sunblock. We’re going kayaking. I’ve never tried that before, so it should be an adventure.

Anticipation has my breath coming short. Grant will be here soon. I place my hand on my stomach, trying to calm the fluttering butterflies. I feel like a teenager experiencing my first crush.

Mitten rubs against my legs and stares intently at me. He knows something important is going on. Cats pick up on everything—they’re psychic like that.

I just
think
of Grant’s savage look of desire, the divine feel of his hard body against mine and deep within me, and I almost climax. Last night, I masturbated twice while thinking of
him.
I wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink without that release of building pressure from nerves and excitement.

Grant’s smoky blue eyes are beautiful, but they seem so sad. It’s as if he’s seen too much in life already. I want to chase that sadness away. I want to make him happy.

I wish I understood what was going on. The best theory I can come up with is I need to be needed, and Grant needs me. That’s definitely part of what’s happening, but it’s not the whole truth. The rest of it, I haven't quite figured out.

My friend and landlord, Diana, is getting in a temp this week. That way, I’ll be available for the rest of Grant’s vacation. I hope to spend every possible moment with him.

It’s still early, yet this morning has already been a day of correspondence.

My grade school librarian—Mr. Brand—has been on my mind recently; I’m not exactly sure why. I’m so thankful he was there for me. I’m sure he has no idea of the important part he played in my life.

Mr. Brand was one of the few, positive influences during my childhood. He showed me respect and saw me as a person.

Teachers are like that, I think. They have the ability to change lives by setting positive examples of kindness, respect and understanding to the kids they teach. I doubt if even a small fraction of them have any idea of the wonderful impact they have on their students.

Yesterday afternoon I obtained the address and phone number of Santee Elementary School, where I attended as a child. I phoned and found out Mr. Brand still works there, but he’s now in the English Literature department. I figure he’s maybe forty or forty-five years old.

I could’ve written an email to the school address to be forwarded to him, but I didn’t want to—not for my first contact.

I wanted something handwritten; something that showed an effort. So I wrote him an old-fashioned letter by hand, on André’s best stationary. It's much more personal and special. He deserves that and more from me.

Dear Mr. Brand,

I don’t know if you remember me, but I used to help you in the library for a couple of years, about ten years ago. I was eleven years old at the time. My name is Renata Koreman. If you recall a thin, blonde girl who always wore the same clothes and never spoke, except to occasionally stutter—that was me.

You interacted with me more than anyone else back then. You’d say, “Thank you, Renata.” Or “You’re a good girl, Renata.” You didn’t say much, but your smiles and wholehearted acceptance spoke volumes, warming my heart and giving me hope for the future.

You must remember the mousy little girl that used to follow you around endlessly, offering a pitiful desire to help as much as I could? I look back now and realize I probably made a pest of myself. It had to be time consuming to teach me how to do the few small things I could do, rather than simply completing those tasks yourself.

Yet, you took time and effort and were always nice. It meant so much to me to feel useful, wanted and appreciated.

Well, I’m writing to thank you for your kindness. I must’ve been a weird kid. Let me just say that my family circumstances were problematic. I rarely felt safe as a child, but I always felt safe with you in your library. You have no idea what this meant to the frightened little girl I was.

With the help of kind, generous and understanding people like yourself, my life is turning out quite well. So, I find myself sitting here, remembering you, thinking of you and feeling incredibly grateful.

I’m enclosing a current photo of me, which might help jog your memory. My phone number and email address are on the back of this photo.

I very much hope to hear from you.

Yours in deep and sincere appreciation,

Renata Koreman

I don’t have a stamp. I’ll ask Grant to stop by a post office, so I can mail it today. The thought of meeting Mr. Brand again leaves me with a pleasant tingle of happiness. I hope to tell him someday, of how I fantasized about marrying him. I was a kid at the time, so I’m sure that will surprise and amuse him.

Right after I wrote my letter to Mr. Brand, I received an enthusiastic email from Joshua:

My dearest Renata,

I know I only get to write two letters a month, but so much has happened I feel I must write you immediately. I have so much energy, and I’m bursting with ideas at work. Our time together has given me new enthusiasm and joy in everything I do.

I never thought I’d ever need or want a woman in my life. Isn’t that strange? Consequently, women never came up on my radar. I didn’t notice them. It was as if I was blind to them. Ha. Ha. (bad joke) But guess what? They’re everywhere!

I want you to know I’ve asked out a woman and she said yes! Her name is Alice Fredrickson, and she’s a fellow physicist. I asked one of the men where I work how old she was. That’s not quite accurate. I told a married colleague, Eric Mann, that I’ve decided to date. Upon my request, he gave me a list of three names of available women who work in our building who are of a similar age.

I know age doesn’t matter, but I considered it best to start with what’s socially expected. I’m taking Alice out to dinner on Friday night. She generously offered to drive. Ha. Ha. (another joke). I think she’s more nervous about our date than I am. How about that? That’s because I’m an experienced man of the world now, thanks to you. You have no idea what one day with you has done for my confidence, as well as for how I view the world and my future.

I still think we’d be good together.

I’m in love with you, Renata, or at least I feel like I am. I know the way I feel is often considered first love, or puppy love, but it certainly seems real to me. Love is the greatest thing in the whole world that can happen to a man. So thank you for that.

All my love,

Joshua

PS: André recommended this book to me:
“She Comes First: The thinking man’s guide to pleasuring a woman.”
I’m reading it right now. You have no idea the things I’m learning. I’d really like to share them with you sometime! Ha. Ha. (Not joking).

PPS: Richard Feynman, a famous quantum physicist said, “Physics is to math what sex is to masturbation.” I’m here to tell you this is entirely true. Sex with you was a euphoric cosmic high, similar to (but nothing like!) my joy of physics. I can never express how grateful I am that you opened my heart, my senses and my soul. (See how poetic love has made me?)

PPPS: My father and mother send their love, too. Dad says it was the best money he’s ever spent. I can only agree. He says he sees my children and his grandchildren in his future.

I have a wide grin and a warm wonderful feeling in my heart as I read his letter, but when I see his comment about grandchildren, I burst into tears.

Joshua’s offered me undying love and a family.

I tend to be over emotional when I’m premenstrual and my period is due soon. My tears are both happy and sad. I’m happy for Joshua, but the thought of babies can make me cry with a poignant kind of
what-might-have-been
over my little brother Timmy.

The timing of his letter is perfect. The universe sometimes has an elegant symmetry. I wrote a letter to Mr. Brand telling him how grateful I was to have had him in my life and how he helped me. Immediately, I received a similar letter from Joshua expressing how grateful he was to me.

From a karmic point of view, it’s exquisite.

I go to the bathroom and wash my face. That little cry made me feel better. My emotions have been building up. It felt good to let them out.

After years of concealing my every reaction, André has taught me how to express my emotions in front of others. So much so, that now I sometimes have trouble
hiding
how I feel. If I told him
he
taught me how to react, he’d disagree. No matter how fucked up I seemed, André always said I was already perfect.

“
I do not teach you how to be yourself!” he explained to me once. “Such comes naturally. You are not lost—only hidden.  In the safety of my home, you are free to find yourself. In time, you will remember who you are.”

After one more check in the mirror, I’m pleased to see there’s no evidence of my crying jag. It came and went quickly.

My thoughts return to Joshua. He’s so lovely and sincere. He deserves to love and be loved. I was honored to have shown him the pleasures of sex. The fact I've been instrumental in him finding his way is fulfilling beyond description. Helping him makes me feel better about myself, and my place in this world. I can only hope my letter to Mr. Brand will bring him some of the joy Joshua’s given me.

My phone rings and I answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Renata,” Grant says and I feel a thrill of happiness at his voice. “I’m at the back entrance of the veterinarian’s office parking lot, knocking on a blue door. Am I in the right place?”

“Yes, good. I’ll be right down. Bye.”

I hang up, take a deep breath and remind myself to stay in the right mindset.
Focus on him. Be in the present. Be the counselor. This is not about you,
I admonish myself.

But oh, man, despite all of my good intentions, I can’t help but think this
is
at least partly about me. The way Grant makes
me feel
is hard to ignore.

Eager and excited, I run down the stairs and open the door.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

~~~

Renata Koreman

When I open the back door to the veterinary office, morning heat comes pouring in. Larger than life, Grant stands right in front of me all big and strong and male.

I’m stunned by feelings so powerful I simply can’t deny them. I stop breathing, unconscious of my instant reaction.

The French call it,
Le coup de foudre.
Translated literally, it means, “Bolt of Lightning” or “The Thunderbolt.” Figuratively, it’s an expression used to indicate the phenomenon better known as, “Love at first sight."

This is a first for me. I loved Jamie deeply and dearly, but never like this. I love André, but it took time for him to grow on me. Joshua is sweet and I adore him.

But this with Grant? This is something new.

Overwhelming feelings of affection and attraction slam into me. Just like the French expression—I’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning. It’s sudden, electric and all encompassing. I’m engulfed by his scent, his presence, his utter maleness.

Even though I’ve never experienced it, I can’t help but know exactly what’s happened to me. I’m in shock, yet there’s also instant recognition.

I’m love struck.

I take Grant in with one long glance: guarded blue-gray eyes, wide shoulders, nice face… even with his scars. He smells sexy and oh-so-male. He’s dressed for outdoors, wearing a long sleeved safari shirt, shorts and sneakers.

For some inexplicable reason I can’t quite understand, my eyes get caught. I stand there, staring at his hands. They’re big and masculine; strong and… compelling. I get a distinct electric tingle throughout my body by just looking at those hands. I want to touch them, and to be touched by them.

What is this crazy pull I feel, this strong attraction?

Visions of our all too brief, yet intensely passionate time together flood my mind. I feel my chest, neck and face heat. I want him to get naked and to use me hard. I want him to push deep inside of me and press against me, skin to skin. I want to merge our minds and hearts and bodies together forever and ever,
amen
.

It’s madness!

Le coup de foudre.

This must be the thunderbolt—what else can it be? I’m a goner. I’m buzzed by the proximity of someone who is unaccountably dear to me. I felt it yesterday when I first met him, as well. I’m drawn to him. Intrigued. Attracted. Fascinated. I’m a casualty, all right. I’ve been struck by love.

“Hi,” I blurt out stupidly.

“Morning,” he says in that sweet Texan accent of his, as he nods. If he was wearing a hat, I swear the man would tip it.

I try to focus on him and remain calm, but I’m nowhere near as confident as I was yesterday. I’ve loved lots of people, but I don’t think I’ve ever really been
in love.
Just being near Grant has me excited, nervous, confused, and off balance.

I force myself to meet his gaze. I can tell he’s self-conscious about his facial scars, but they’re nothing to me. I wonder how he got them. Was it a burn?

“Do you—would you—um,” I stammer, tripping over my tongue.

I stare down at my feet for a moment while I try to pull myself together. Shifting slightly, I look back up, and right into his guarded blue eyes. He’s holding back, he’s protecting himself. I appreciate his need for a defensive barrier.

“Would you like to… meet my cat?” I manage to get out.

Once more, I feel incredibly stupid. What the hell’s wrong with me? Just yesterday, I had hot, unrestrained, fierce and mind blowing sex with this man. So why do I find myself inexplicably shy in his presence?

I stare at his face and his fine long mouth, looking for any sign of displeasure, distain or mockery. All I can see is that my question’s surprised him. Mitten’s important to me. Is Grant an animal lover? To my relief, his lips twitch and he looks pleased.

“Sure.” He smirks. “I like cats.”

Yay—he likes cats!

I grin. “Follow me.” I turn, move back inside and walk up the stairs.

I can hear the sound of Grant’s footsteps behind me. I have a million thoughts going through my mind, but I can’t seem to say any of them. Did he ever have a cat? I imagine him playing with kittens in a barn as a boy.

I open the door to my apartment and Mitten’s right there and glad to see me. I pat my shoulder and he gracefully jumps up.

Grant notices my hand motion as well as Mitten’s compliance. His gaze travels over my cat. Mitten is all black, except for the patches of white on his chest and on his two front paws.

“He’s a beauty,” he says quietly, staring at my cat, who’s now eye level with him.

“Grant, meet Mitten. Mitten, this is my friend Grant,” I say, treating my Mitten as the person I feel he is.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, um…Mister Mitten?” Grant says, playing along good-naturedly as if he's formally introduced to cats every day.

I laugh while scratching Mitten’s ears. “Yes. He’s male.” I turn and walk to the couch. “Please, have a seat and meet him properly. You’re not allergic or afraid of cats, are you?”

“Not a bit,” he assures me with a smile.

I notice Grant sits down so his scars are facing away from me. I’m sure he’s done this on purpose. His disfigurement is an elephant in the room—something Grant is acutely aware of, but tries to pretend isn’t there. What caused them? I’d ask, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

When he arrived he was uptight. Right now, he seems less tense and edgy. I think talking about my cat has relaxed him. Cats are apparently a safe subject.

Mitten doesn’t always perform in front of strangers. I look into his eyes, hoping to communicate how important my visitor is to me. “Mitten, this is my special friend, Grant. Will you say hello?”

Mitten faces Grant, stands up on his back legs and spreads his arms wide.

Grant’s face brightens in astonished surprise.

“Go ahead. Hug him,” I say.

Grant puts his hands out and moves in closer, ready to accept Mitten’s embrace. When Mitten hugs him, Grant scoops him up into his arms for an appreciative cuddle.

“You’re really something,” he murmurs to Mitten and smiles while holding and stroking him. “I’ve never met such a neat cat.”

He puts Mitten down on the couch but scratches up under his chin, pleased when my baby begins to purr. I’m delighted! Grant’s a cat person and Mitten likes him. What would I have done if they hated each other?

“He’s really great,” Grant says, and the ice is broken.

I can talk all day about my beloved cat, and Mitten’s a subject Grant’s comfortable with as well. He seems genuinely interested and can apparently listen all day. Before long, I’m telling him about my YouTube business, showing Grant Mitten’s videos and talking about my book.

An hour flies by easily and naturally without awkwardness or tension while we chat. I give Grant Mitten’s soft rubber ball, so he can play fetch with him.

Dogs love fetch, from what I understand. They chase the ball, catch it, and return it. Throw, chase, catch and return.

Mitten, however, adds a few extra steps to this game. Mitten stalks and chases the ball when Grant throws it. But then he attacks the ball as if he’s killing it, and as if the fate of the world depends on its capture and death.

Once the ball is successfully subdued, Mitten has a smug victor’s glint in his eyes as he brings it back to Grant and drops it at his feet. Throw, stalk, attack, kill, catch and return. Throw, stalk, attack, kill, catch and return.

We giggle and laugh at his antics. Grant’s utterly charmed and I can tell how much Mitten likes him.

“I’m so glad you like cats,” I say.

Unblinking, Grant stares at me intently. “I like you. I think you’re amazing,” he says, and then he colors slightly. I don’t think he expected to say that out loud. I’m glad he’s feeling comfortable enough to let his guard down.

“I like you, too,” I tell him.

Our eyes lock and we grin stupidly at each other for a long, long moment. My pulse kicks up a notch. The attraction and energy we have between us takes my breath away.

Grant stands up, his eyes glancing uneasily toward my bed. “We really should get going, if we want to go kayaking,” he says.

“OK.”

He’s worried about us having sex again. Damned if I know why it freaked him out last time. André told me to keep things light, so as much as I want to ask him about it, I don’t.

Today is all about easy, fun stuff. That’s the plan, anyway.

Too bad things rarely work out as planned.