Another Time, Another Place, Page 2

  Her expression prior to the climax seemed to intensify, electrified her own arousal. Oddly, the reflection vanishing in the mist told of an explosion just seconds away…ticking like a time bomb. One would think as much as she adored storms that the lightning strike just outside of the house would have been the lever that opened her orgasmic flood gates. Instead, the loud bang, the slight house tremor, and the sound of bottles and things tumbling in the medicine cabinet startled her. She released a tiny scream. Somehow, she ended on her butt sitting on the bathroom floor.

  That was very close, she thought.

  She stood up and peeked into the bedroom. Virgil remained out like a light. The only difference in him was, he’d moved from his left side to the right side. April looked at herself once more in the mirror. The reflection seemed to speak, “Make me sing!” Therefore, she intended to capture the identical intense erotic expression of moments ago. Her womanhood remained moist and hot. She knew in a manner of seconds, she’d be back to the near climactic state.

  She straddled the sink a second time and immediately started the process of picking up where she had left off. She paid full attention to her jewel. Instantly a tingly sensation rose from the toes, up the legs to the pulsating walls of her womanhood. Again, the sight of her turned-on expression ignited even more passion within. Her blood boiled. April’s open mouth, flared nostril, passionate eyes and the scar above her left eyebrow had great sex appeal. She exploded hard and uncontrolled; her legs trembled so violently that the soap dispenser vibrated and fell into the sink. She continued the motion on her clitoris until she couldn’t withstand her own action.

  April leaned forward, rested and supported herself with her forehead against the medicine cabinet’s mirror. She panted heavily and took long, slow deliberate breaths in an attempt to regain normal breathing. After a short while, she lifted her head, wiped the lingering condensation from the mirror with the face cloth and directed her attention to the mirror’s image. She ran fingers through her hair from front to back and was very satisfied with the pleasure she gave herself. April looked intently at her reflection.

  “I don’t have a scar above my left eye,” she spoke aloud.

  April jumped from the sink, turned on the bathroom light and returned to the mirror to investigate under better lighting.

  FOUR

  Ariel was startled when Steven turned on the bathroom light.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I’m just looking at myself in the mirror.”

  “Yeah, you look confused by that or you’re embarrassed because I’ve watched you finger-fuck yourself while admiring your work in the mirror. Riding my dick isn’t good enough anymore? You have to straddle a sink like it’s a fucking horse.”

  Ariel turned toward her husband. With his tone and posture, embarrassment wasn’t the emotion that swept over her. It leaned more toward fear. She had gone through a ritual. She had more than pleased herself and was pretty much wiped out from her act because her self-induced orgasm closely followed one from the lovemaking session between her and Steven. Her erotic state started to dissipate when she became confused by her reflection in the mirror. As she walked toward the bedroom, she ran a thumb across the scar just above her left eyebrow and felt things were normal. She’d swear her childhood injury scar was replaced by a beauty mark mole under her right eye.

  “I saw a mole when I climaxed,” she spoke aloud.

  The eeriness that consumed her when she fell to the floor, spooked by the close lightning strike, seemed like a reflection of another place and time. She kept the strange thoughts to herself because truthfully, it sounded crazy to her.

  Steven’s mood can’t handle my notions right now, she said mentally to herself.

  “No violence,” Ariel spoke as she passed Steven.

  Steven gazed upon her as if she’d lost her mind.

  How dare you, he thought. He was appalled by the insinuation.

  “Don’t tell me,” he scolded her. Each word was accompanied by what he considered a mild tap on the back of her head. “…what to do,” he continued with three more corresponding smacks. The last one was a shove that quickened her descent to the bed.

  “Stop it!” Ariel snapped. “I’m not in the mood for this. Alright!”

  She climbed under the covers, laid on her left side and gazed at the flashes of light through the bow window. Steven grabbed the corners of his pillow, and repeatedly struck her on the head in a one-man pillow fight. He called his spouse everything under the sun except a child of God.

  “Why are you doing this?” Ariel asked. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your hostility.”

  Steven’s assault stopped for a moment. “You’ve made me feel as though I don’t know how to take care of your needs. Maybe I’m not good enough or maybe you were fantasizing about your secret lover as you stared into the mirror.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I have no such person.”

  “Devin Alexander,” Steven spoke confidently.

  “Now you’re being totally ridiculous. Devin recently got married. He has never looked twice at me since we split up,” Ariel said. She sensed her husband was about to rebut her statement. “Before you say it, that night at The Drink, Devin was winking at his date. Not me.”

  “Yeah right!”

  “This conversation is too damn old. I have to tell you the same thing every time you get a hair up your ass.”

  “I don’t have a hair up my ass. You shouldn’t step on my manhood by finger-fucking yourself immediately after we have sex.”

  “Your manhood, this is what’s angered you? Haven’t you ever jacked off before?” Ariel raged.

  “Plenty of times,” Steven quickly answered. “But, never directly after being with a woman.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You having to stroke yourself when women are available should threaten your manhood.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Nor should me masturbating.”

  Steven swung his pillow at Ariel’s head again. She protected her head with her pillow and simultaneously drowned out most of the second round of verbal abuse. She cried under the concealment of the pillow, very much confused by what she’d done wrong.

  FIVE

  April carefully slid under the covers; she hoped not to disturb Virgil. The foolish notion made her chuckle because her husband was in full snore mode. She laid on her side, watched flashes of light dance outside through the bow window and wished that each flash would damper the sound of Virgil’s snore. She hugged the pillow tightly around her head; used it as a gigantic earplug. Oddly, the same eeriness consumed her. April opened her eyes to the darkness, as if that would aid her understanding of why the moment felt familiar to her.

  I’ve been here before, she thought.

  The premonition bothered her because the notion came with the belief that the experience was something unpleasant. The weary thoughts kept her awake for hours. Ultimately, the body grew tired and she fell asleep just before sunrise. The next morning when Virgil removed the pillow from her head, she woke tired, her face was clammy from sweating, and her damp hair was matted in place like a wet curl.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Virgil apologized. “Was my snoring unbearable last night?”

  Realistically, Virgil was a good man. He provided a daydream life for her. April’s needs were met and her wants were never questioned. She was a pampered, placed-on-a-pedestal, stay-at-home wife, so dealing with a snoring issue uncontrollable by her spouse was easy. Years ago, she decided it was pointless to make him feel bad about it.

  “No…it was nothing more than usual,” April said, responding to his question. “The constant thundering had more to do with it,” she lied. “You and the storm combined aren’t the best lullaby to fall asleep to.”

  Virgil smiled.

  “That was a pretty nasty storm,” he said.

  “You slept through the worst part. It got crazy out there for a good wh
ile. I’d swear that lightning struck somewhere in our yard.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t play human lightning rod and watch the storm from the bed.”

  Virgil glanced out of the window. The rain continued to fall, but with far less intensity than the downpour of the previous night.

  “I believe the forecast calls for more thunderstorms tonight,” Virgil spoke. “Maybe you should try earplugs tonight?”

  “That may not be a bad idea.”

  Moments later, the aroma of bacon filled the air. April was in automatic mode when she prepared their morning breakfast. The meals varied, yet she remained efficient. The only difference between weekday and weekend meals was that she awakened naturally without an alarm clock. She placed Virgil’s plate on the table, sat across the table and they began eating breakfast.

  “The pepper jack cheese in the eggs this time really sets them off,” Virgil complimented his wife. “Honey, did you hear me?”

  April was in deep thought. She stared at the dark substance in her coffee cup as if the black liquid could sway her mind from the surfacing thought.

  “Honey?” Virgil said a bit louder.

  This time his word registered and the coffee cup slowly came into focus.

  “Yes,” April responded.

  “What’s wrong? Are you still troubled by my behavior last night?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought. That’s water under the bridge; we’ll get past this.”

  “Please explain the distance in the air today. What’s wrong?”

  “Really nothing,” she lied again.

  April felt bad with a second lie in such a short time. But, she wasn’t about to tell her true feelings. The tainted mood began while she cooked. Mentally, she took inventory of her fairytale life. Even with his undying love, worldly possessions and money, a major part of her felt unfulfilled. She did a quick scan of her home.

  How can a person with so much feel so empty? she asked herself.

  Deep down, April wanted to contribute to her life’s existence. Many women would say being a homemaker was a full-time job, but years of constant repetition had taken a toll on her spirit. She cooked, she cleaned, shopped for groceries, clothes and everything in between online. She and Virgil attended very little social functions, therefore, for years she felt like a prisoner confined to their home. Absent the visits from the personal trainer and an occasional call from her mother, her outside life would be nonexistent.

  The one time April did voice her desire to contribute to the household, Virgil became irate, his old school chauvinistic views flared and they engaged in a major argument over the subject for days.

  No wife of mine is going to work when I have the means to provide a good life without help, were Virgil’s words. They were still prominent in her mind.

  Virgil was the man of the house and throughout the years he reminded her of it countless times. It led April to believe that reviving a non-winnable stressful conversation wasn’t worth the effort. Part of her believed her predicament was her own doing because she accepted the role from the very beginning. After all, it was his money, his house and his rules. It was a thought that tormented her silently for years.

  “I’m a bit preoccupied with being spooked last night,” April continued.

  “Spooked? What happened?”

  “I looked different in the mirror, but I’d guess the lightning may have played tricks with my eyes.”

  “Well, what did you see?”

  “A reflection of me looked the same, yet uncommonly different.”

  “Explain.”

  “That’s just it. I can’t. I just felt as though I was seeing a near identical twin.”

  Virgil smiled. He slept through the worst part of the storm, yet April’s explanation forced him to agree with his spouse.

  “Sweetheart,” Virgil said. “You’re right. It was just the storm playing tricks on you. Don’t waste energy worrying about a supernatural phenomenon,” Virgil suggested.

  “Maybe you’re right,” agreed April.

  She was happy to have swayed the conversation without revealing her true feelings. Even though having Virgil believe she’d lost her mind forced a question about her motive.

  SIX

  Lying in bed the next morning Ariel had her back toward Steven’s. She again focused her attention to the dancing rain on the bow window. It was a constant fall, but not the downpour of the previous night. Steven rolled over, placed an arm around her and then began running his fingers through her hair.

  “I’m sorry I acted so ugly last night,” Steven apologized. “I truly don’t know what got into me.”

  Ariel remained silent.

  “Come on,” he begged, “don’t be like that. After all, it was only a pillow.”

  Ariel rolled to her back, ignored his words once more and stared at the light fixture on the ceiling.

  “You sound ridiculous,” Ariel responded after a long moment of silence. “It didn’t matter to you that it was only my finger. You reacted as though you caught me fucking another man. How fair is that?”

  “I know,” he spoke with a softer tone. “I overreacted and I’m very sorry.”

  “Truthfully,” Ariel replied as she turned to look at him for the first time. “That was the second time in seven months you’ve apologized for striking me. Well, the first time, shame on you. The second time, shame on me. A third time isn’t going to happen. I’m not sticking around for that.”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “It’s Saturday morning. Monday, I’m speaking with a divorce attorney.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Steven said a little animated. “You weren’t hit hard at all with a pillow.”

  “So typical of a man, you attempt to justify a wrong by placing it on a grading scale. Striking me is wrong whether or not it’s with your fist or with a pillow. I’d be a fool to sit here and wait for the next time bomb to explode.”

  Steven sat up, rested his back on the headboard, turned and gazed at his wife.

  “I promise you on my life that I’ll never abuse you mentally or physically again,” Steven said slowly and concisely.

  “If I recall correctly, wasn’t it your mother’s life you swore on the last time?”

  Touché, Steven thought.

  He was about to continue rationalizing why Ariel should reconsider her view when the “You’ve got mail” announcement floated through the air. Ariel jumped up, her naked frame seemed to glide on air. Their disturbing conversation didn’t prevent Steven from admiring and thinking what a wonderful ass she had. Ariel left the bedroom; she had concealed what Steven deemed her greatest asset with a robe.

  Moments later, she discovered the email notification was a communiqué from her office. The odd part was that she had never received a business email over the weekend before. She became alarmed with the subject matter of the email entitled “Presentation.” She read the one-paragraph note that told her to rethink her approach.

  “Rethink my approach,” she said aloud.

  Her mind drifted back to the presentation that she gave to a new client and fearful realizations surfaced like a submarine on a fast ascent. Ariel crossed her arms on the desk, leaned forward and rested her head on her arms. She took a deep breath to combat the mild case of depression that was suddenly consuming her. According to the email, she had Saturday and Sunday to put together a presentation that would rock the client’s world. The exact approach eluded her, yet she sat for hours at the computer researching various products. Her result was a desk full of various white papers, but the best approach for her client still eluded her. Her eyes ached and at this point she experienced information overload and couldn’t read another line of text on the flat-screen monitor. She left the home office and walked by the family room where Steven was watching TV. Ariel tussled through the pots and pans to begin dinner. Steven told her that he’d already ordered Chinese food and that it should be delivered shortly.

  “Besides,” Steven spo
ke softly into her ear after leaving the lazy boy recliner, “the rain has picked up again and the roar of thunder is getting louder by the minute. Another major storm is heading our way. It’s too messy to go out, and just in case the lights fail, I thought it would be nice to have food delivered. See,” he said, proud of a small accomplishment, “I have placed candles on the table already.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” Ariel replied.

  But, Steven’s thoughtfulness hadn’t lessened her anger. She understood the time away from the kitchen was a diversion to allow time to formulate a strategic presentation.

  SEVEN

  As far back as April could remember she had enjoyed watching the brilliance of violent storms. She recalled her mother forcing her to get away from the window as a child. She sat at the kitchen table nursing a glass of burgundy wine. Virgil was placing the leftover Chinese food into containers. He’d had food delivered as an attempt to calm her because while they ate breakfast, he sensed that his wife was troubled even though she neglected to share her true thoughts. He was happy with himself because April really seemed to enjoy the General Tso’s chicken and hot and sour soup that he presented her.