Saturday, February 8, 2014

Children of Cronos

Continued from Psychosomatic Warfare

Leisl remained true to her word. She began to lavish more attention on her brother after a long time of neglect and focus on lovers who took her forgranted. Carl had never done so. He'd been there for her when she needed solace, never berated her for her absences or poor choices of bedfellows. He'd been the modicum of measure and tolerance even though it was often obvious that he didn't like the 'type' of men she was attracted to.

She wasn't why but she definitely had a 'type', a penchant for the 'bad boy'. Usually muso's - tattooed and self-obsessed, or skaters - agile and neglectful or the last, a motocross rider who spent more time with his KTM than with her. He's the one who broke the camel's back by calling her stupid and dumping her unceremoniously. Yet she would have tolerated all his faults if he'd just loved her. Stayed with her. Quelled her neediness and obsession. After Stu, she was going to take a break. Focus on the salon, her family, her looks. If love was to find her, it would have to come looking. She was done with clubs and pubs and short-term liaisons with creeps. She was 'over it', or so she thought.

Carl continued with his boxing and building the body beautiful. He was strong, not a tall man, but solid as a rock in both build and character. The two of them did everything together between his gym commitments and her full time work at the salon. They moved from the nightlife to the good life. Cycling in the Grampians, swimming at Carrum Downs, playing monopoly while Wolf drank himself into a stupor in front of the television, preparing meals, sharing the load of housework or just sitting end to end on the couch watching TV. Her with her feet tucked beneath his thighs. Physical contact for them was natural, easy. The few times they found themselves alone, she logged into Facebook and Twitter on her Android, a voyeur of the lives of others, a browser of You Tube and a lover of Grumpy Cat. Occasionally, she'd notice Carl's absence and quiz him upon his return.

"Where've you been?" she'd pry, peering momentarily from her phone screen.  I didn't even know you'd slipped out."

"Oh nowhere, just went for a walk. Clear the head, stretch the legs."

Trust is an odd thing

"You're so lucky to be close to your brother," one of her clients had muttered between the sink and cutting station. "My family is continually fighting with each other. Christmas is just Hell, wondering which one's going to chuck a tanty and spoil it for everyone. Haven't spoken to one of my brother's for six years due to some stupid altercation."

"Yeh, Carol, we're close. He's my best friend that little chap. Love his bones. I am lucky!"

Leisl was able to distract herself from more than affectionate thoughts of her younger sibling once the client was seated and her coiffure in progress.

"What's the go with your sister?" Mitch Ryan had once asked Carl, after a lengthy conversation about her good look, great body.

"What? 'the go'?" Carl retorted, realising that he talked about her more than was natural, and thought about her more than was healthy. "Nothin', she's good that's all. Nice girl, we're best mates I guess."

He turned quickly, distracting himself with the punching bag and trying not to let his thoughts stray.


The tickling incident, although unrepeated, was not forgotten. In fact it played hard on Carl's mind. At 18, he still hadn't had the courage to ask a girl out let alone the experience of carnal pleasures and when alone, he fantasised about his sister and her exploits, wondered about what she'd done, what she did, what she could do.

Carl rose, and made his way towards the bathroom as was his morning habit. He'd shower and relieve himself at the same time but found the bathroom occupied.

Leisl, one leg raised, her foot on the lip of the bath, was waxing her legs. Freshly showered, her hair lank around her shoulders, and wearing only her underwear. The door remained slightly ajar. Carl forgot his near-nakedness as he peered unnoticed through the thin slit in the door. Her legs had always been shapely but somehow seemed more womanly, sleek, tanned. She was blessed with an hourglass figure, slim, slight, voluptuous, made all the more attractive by a pink lace bra and g-string that left little to the imagination. He watched as she slid the warm wax from her ankle, slowly and steadily along her shin, terminating at her knee and applied a cotton strip. He winced as she pulled the strip back, tearing the wax with it, yet she barely flinched.  He admired her breasts as she leaned forward and repeated the action on a new patch of flawless skin. His guilt suspended by the desire to look. She removed her pants and widened her legs, applying more wax between them, more careful this time and using smaller strips of white cotton, she removed every vestige of pubic hair. She looked beautiful, clean, virginal, youthful,like a Greek Goddess in pink lace.  Her ritual complete, she retrieved g-string and looked up, catching a glimpse of him through the narrow opening of the door before standing straight and striking a naked pose.

"Like what you see Carl?" A cheeky smile beamed across her face.  She made little effort to hurry to get dressed and slid the g-string from knee to hip, straightening with her thumbs and pressing her palms down flat from abs to her lower belly.  She reached for the silk gown her mother used to wear and slowly covered up before fully opening the door.

"My! You did like what you saw." She began giggling softly at the bulge protruding from his blue striped cotton boxers before brushing past him, just nudging the tip of his erection with her thigh and retreating into her bedroom. This would be one of many flirtatious 'near misses' which did not make her uncomfortable, for that matter, did not faze Carl either, merely enhanced his curiosity about what lay between those hairless, velvet thighs.

It was a warm January afternoon. They'd driven to the Mornington Peninsular and found a sheltered cove, surrounded by the sandstone cliffs and unaffected by the warm northerly breeze. She lying on her front, knees bent and legs kicking the air, flicking the pages of a Who Weekly. He, lying on his back, holding the pages of "Iron Man" Magazine, able to glance sideways at her cleavage and perfect breasts.

"I'm not fond of muscles you know." She'd piped without prompt.

"Really? I thought chicks would dig 'em. That's not why I work out though."

"Then why? I mean,  you look good," She sat up and held clasped her hands around bended knees, "But there's a point where it's too much." 

Leisl, pointed to the picture on the Iron Man page of a man bulging with sinew and ripped muscle. 

"He looks like a bull, not a boy. I mean does it help pull women?"

"Not really." Carl's response is laconic as he keeps flicking the pages. "I've never been with any chicks. The gym's full of guys."

"Oh li'l Bro! You're 18, nearly 19...never been with a girl. That's insane!"

He's embarrassed about the fact but his focus has been on building himself, his body, his self esteem.

She slid a finger from the nape of his neck down to the well of his back, it sent tingles and made him involuntarily recoil. She propped herself beside him, facing him and on her knees and dropped lotion on each palm, smoothing it from his shoulders, over his pecs and down his abdomen to the line below his board shorts. She smoothed the lotion across his stomach with broad palm strokes from sternum to side. He shuffled as if a little uncomfortable but remained lying on his back.  She knew he was feeling it, she could see he was feeling it, even though he persisted in holding his magazine with outstretched arms, shading his face from the sun in an attempt to be oblivious to her touch. She drew an invisible line from hip bone to hip bone, again making him wince. It was a beautifully painful tickle. An erotic flinch.

"Hey! Cut it out!" He laughed but didn't resist.

She continued, spreading the cool suntan lotion from his thighs down to his ankles and rolling greasy hands across each leg. She removed her bikini top and tossed it onto her towel, obliterating the celebrity face on the front of her magazine and lay close to him, her hand decending to the chord on his shorts, deftly unthreading, caressing. Nimble fingers probing and sliding the swimwear down to his knees. This he couldn't bear and discarded his own magazine before pressing hard against her, feeling sweat on her skin, the press of her lips, the moistness of her body and sinking into oblivion. Her kiss remembered, her body discovered. She knew exactly what to do with hands, mouth and tongue. He reciprocated, clumsily at first, but then with natural caresses and tenderness. Any inhibitions or morality were forgotten as they embraced, interlocked and penetrated. They were untouchable, Olympians both, the children of Cronos immersed in mortal sin, but neither of them cared.

"It was just a one off OK?" Leisl's guilt feigned. It was arguably the best sex she'd had. The others being rushed, selfish, demanding and unsatisfying. Despite her prowess, none of her former lovers had even tried to satisfy her. Carl had achieved what none of them had. He'd asked nothing and she'd given everything. 

"I know what we did was wrong but you'd never done it. I needed it, we love each other . . . it seemed...."

Carl cut her off with a finger to her lips. "It's OK. I won't say anything other than 'thank you'. It was awesome"

Nothing was said. The event never referenced or discussed. But something between them changed that afternoon. Afterward, he craved. The more he did so, the more she held back.  Perhaps it was guilt, perhaps it was restraint but he wanted more and she gave him nothing. Perhaps it had something to do with that guy she talks to all the time on the phone. The one that makes her laugh and cry, and argue. Whoever he is, she spends time locked in her room reminiscing, cooing, sobbing but says nothing about his identity. 

"Who the Hell are you talking to?" He'd plead, "Just tell me his name."

"Oh. Nobody, just an old school friend." She'd turn him round and march him from her bedroom before closing the door, "Don't get jealous, he's in another State. Now go! It's a private conversation."

She never saw the expression on his face as he was ushered from her room. Anger, resentment, rejection, jealousy, bitterness. Just as he had found her, he now felt like he'd lost her. Worse still, to someone absent, someone known to her but not to him. Someone at the end of a cell phone. Someone who would use and abuse her like all the others. Someone that could no longer be tolerated.

Posted for River of Mnemosyne Challenge No 5

Continued in In Surreal Time