"Forever in My Heart" Pt. 02

Socks in hand he slammed the drawer shut, "No! God damn it! Go get dressed! Play on your computer or something. And no company!" He picked up his boots and started for the stairs.

Chelsea followed, "Colt," she yelled, "you can't put me off forever!"

He slammed the front door as he stomped off to his truck, 'Fucking cunt! What was he going to do with her?' He felt guilty almost immediately, 'She was ill, desperately so. She never went anywhere, had very few friends, hardly any money. Her mother hated her. His mother hardly knew she existed. He was all she had. What kind of unfeeling unsympathetic, unloving prick was he anyway? Would it hurt him to pay her a little more attention? If only he had more money. This fucking job wasn't going to do it.' He turned off the back road and hit Interstate 81, 'he'd have to figure something else out.'

~~V~~

Madeline checked through her schedule for the hundredth time, 'What was she doing? Colton was a red necked hick from way back, a warehouse operator no less. Thanks to a novice at the registrar's office at State College, and a little white lie on her part she'd gotten limited access to Colton's transcripts. He really had been a top tier student. No slouch, he'd nearly made it. All he needed was...oh what a waste of time.' She stared at the transcripts for several moments. She wondered how far off he really was, mentally, attitudinally. These things, transcripts, records; she had a friend, a boy who adored her, a computer geek. What was his name? Ben, Ben something. Ben Summersby. She remembered, he worked at Rorhtech. She bet he'd do anything for her.

~~V~~

Sunday afternoon:

Colton was at Madeline's door right on time. He knocked. She came out wearing a pair of jeans and beautiful snow-white blouse. She was breathtaking.

"Where're we going," she asked?

"Ever been horseback riding?"

Madeline had been raised around horses; had one of her own since she was seven. She smiled to herself, but held it in, "A little."

"Emit's out of town and I'm still welcome to use the horses. Thought maybe we could ride."

She replied, "That could be fun."

~~V~~

They got to Emit's. Colton saddled up Princess for Madeline and Johnny for himself. They hit out on some of the more familiar trails; trails he knew required little experience. He trotted along at a leisurely pace; Madeline right beside. He noted she rode well. He'd put her on a western saddle.

Madeline rode along, bored out of her gourd. She wanted to spur the old nag on and show the clod just how well she could ride, but this was Colton's show, she'd play along. The horse she was on; he said her name was Princess, needed to be shipped off to Columbus Ohio, that's where she thought they made the glue. But then she took it back; Princess was a good old girl, he'd said the kid, Chelsea, rode her. It made sense.

She glanced about; the scenery was hardly Montana, but it wasn't totally awful. The area was dotted with barns, old silos, nice homes that often abutted up to rundown shacks and dilapidated trailers. Western Pennsylvania sure wasn't much, not anymore, not with the new economy.

She noticed, for all the work he supposedly did at the stable, Colton wasn't the best of riders. He did OK, but nothing special. They rode around for what seemed like forever. They went slowly, painfully so.

Colton realized from the start it wasn't much of a ride for Madeline; her poise in the saddle reflected experience, certainly better than him. Even so the presence of this beautiful woman riding along beside him was a splendid diversion. Still, though enjoyable, who wouldn't enjoy the sight of a woman's muscular legs or the intoxicating visual of two superb breasts undulating exotically beneath thin material, the very idea she would waste her time with someone like him was confusing. He really was at a loss.

Finally back at the stable Colton asked, "Tired? Feel gritty? We've got a shower."

"No," she replied, "but a coffee would be nice."

"There's a coffee pot in the back."

They strolled down the barn to the back room. He held the door and she started in, then stopped. This was too much; a bed, a single bed, more like a cot than a bed, and horse blankets! She swiveled about, "You don't think?"

Class differences aside. Self-conscious feelings of inferiority ignored; he had to have her. He took her by the arm and pulled her in.

Madeline was at once furious and exultant. He had her in his arms. He stunk of some cheap cologne, 'Old Spice', how awful. His hair was tousled, already it had straw stuck in it. He smelled! The room smelled! They were in a fucking shed! Old gritty, beaten hardwood floors, planked walls, one window, grimy cotton curtains, once white, greyed from time and neglect.

His lips covered hers; one hand on the back of her neck, the other at her waist. She pressed herself against him, molding her body to his. She felt his presence against her abdomen. He was hard and big! So fast! God damn her pants; she had to get out of them!

Madeline wrapped her arms around the man who held her. Her jeans felt wet. Already? Had she soiled herself? It felt like it. No! Oh no! Uncertain, frightened; she tried to push him away, "Colton no..."

He didn't let her go. His left hand already had half the buttons of her blouse undone. His hands, soiled, no stained by the leather of his horse's reins smudged the perfect white of her top. It made her feel dirty, but alive! Alive and eager. She dropped her hands and started to undo her jeans. Out of sorts, she lost control of her bladder. She peed herself. How dreadful, embarrassed she whispered, "Colton."

Pants down to her knees she tried to turn away, "Colton stop!" She told him to stop, but she knew he wouldn't.

His hands were in her hair. She'd braided it that morning. He pulled the single braid apart. He leaned back slightly, took another breath and closed in on her mouth again. His lips on hers, his tongue inside, ravaging her mouth. She felt something around her neck! Leather! He'd wrapped a strip of leather around her neck. He was using it to keep her close. It, he frightened her.

Blouse half off; still buttoned sleeves pinioning her arms to her sides. She was helpless.

Her jeans; already gone, someplace on the dirty floor. Panties? Wet, near her ankles with her long abandoned shoes. She wore only her rumpled imprisoning blouse ...and the leather he'd wrapped around her neck.

Hair, makeup, and composure, all in disarray Colton pulled Madeline by the leather strap to the bed. He lifted and laid her down. He sat down beside her. He held the strap that trapped her neck tightly in his fist, "You're beautiful and you're mine."

She was completely lost. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Oh there'd been stable boys down at...where? Antibes? But she'd been in control. But she'd always been in control! With Colton, this was the second, third time? Who was he? How did he get her to respond like this? She should fight back. She just couldn't.

Then a light went on; a mental image invaded her mind - Frat Boy! She struggled, tried to break free, "You, you're a Frat Boy!"

Puzzled for a second; he frowned, then angrily replied, "Me? Frat boy? What bullshit!"

Eyes ablaze she yelped, "No stop!"

He did stop. He smiled warmly, tenderly. Still holding her firmly he caressed her cheek. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, the tip of her nose. He whispered as gently pressed his lips on hers, "I know what you mean. I'm not one of those..."

Again, a last time, she tried to regain the upper hand, "Colton you've got..."

Him still fully clothed, and her almost without a stitch, he sat back ever so slightly. He covered her chin with his hand, thumb in her mouth, "You're adorable. I've got to have you. I'm going to have you," he leaned down and closed his mouth on hers again.

Terrified, she felt herself lose control all over again. This couldn't be happening to her. Not her! ...She gave up. On the verge of an orgasm, about to ejaculate she gasped, "Oh Colton, oh..."

His clothes were off. He was beside her. He was inside her. She was tight. Her uterine canal seemed shallow. His penis pressed hard, in and up all the way up to and against her cervix.

She felt him inside. She felt the leather collar. He filled her so. It hurt, but it felt...oh, so wonderful, so painful, but so magnificent, so perfect. It was like he barely moved; no frenetic thrusts, no adolescent pounding, just slow, steady, hot, almost languid but enormously powerful pressure, in and out.

Colton looked down on the woman, the lawyer. She had her eyes closed. Tears dripped from the sides of her eyes and down her cheeks. He slowed the pressure. She was biting her lip. He closed in and kissed her. He kissed her again and again. He adored her. Was that what she wanted?

Madeline lay on her back - helpless, defenseless, utterly and completely subjected to his will. Was this what it was to love someone, to truly and completely give one's self away? She held her hands out beside her shoulders; each clenched in a tight fist, not from pain, but from the intensity of her feelings, the sensations, the emotions that kept washing over her. She jerked her pelvis impulsively, spasmodically. She couldn't think. She didn't dare. She'd heard of multiple orgasms, but never, not before, not like... He ejaculated! Everything, all of it, it all went up inside, deep inside! It, his penis, it felt, it was so hot! She'd never been a talker, a moaner, or a crier, but she had to, she sobbed, "Oh, oh!" She wrapped her arms around his head, "Oh please..."

Colton, exhausted, collapsed on top of his lawyer. With a barely discernable 'phew', he started to roll off to the side, but she held him, "No not yet. Stay where you are. Stay inside me."

She pressed against him, but then for the first time an awareness of the roughness of the blanket came to her consciousness. She kissed his ear, "You're wonderful. I hate you."

Still partially rigid he pressed back into her; brushing her hair aside he said gently, pretending he meant it, "I might make you stay here tonight. Imagine, naked, tied to a post here in this room with just me and the horses."

Since her freshman year she never believed what men said, but for an instant she believed him. She panicked, "No, I have to get back. I have to work."

He rolled off, sat up, and turned around scouting for his boots, "Just kidding." Seated he searched for his clothes. He cast an eye back in her direction and thought, 'She needed to be tied to the bed. Here was someone who, once gentled could be... She needed someone like... shit, who was he kidding.'

She felt so humiliated. He was so strong, so in control. She never liked men like that, not before. He seemed so indifferent. Why did she feel so affectionate? 'Why,' she wondered, 'what was it about him? She got angry.'

~~V~~

The drive back was quiet, almost somber. Halfway back he asked, "Want to pull into MacDonald's and get that coffee?"

"No," she replied, "just take me home," she felt tired, sore, but most of all she felt degraded.

He glanced over and sensed her discomfiture, "I know this wasn't what you might have expected. The Pennsylvania countryside ain't the greatest, maybe the bedding could have been better, and I sure ain't Johnny Depp, but I'm still glad we got together,' he hesitated then added, "I like you Madeline. I like you a lot."

She kept her eyes on the road. She kept telling herself, 'This has to be infatuation. That's all it is, just the excitement, the newness the differentness of it. It'll wear off. He'll wear off' She glowered at him, "You think you're hot stuff, some kind of lady's man, a real Casanova."

Taken slightly aback he slowed down, looked over, and replied, "No I don't." He punched down on the accelerator, the truck gave a start jerking Madeline's head backward slightly.

They got to her front door. He started to get out to walk her up, but she was out too fast, "Don't bother."

He sat back, eyes straight ahead, "Just the same, had a good time."

She blushed, 'Who was he?' With the hope of finality she replied, "Don't call me. I'll call you," she turned, and without looking back, made straight for her front door. She just had to get away.

Colton watched her go. Well, he figured, that's it. He went too far, or she figured him out. The woman wants caviar and he's...well...he's. He put his truck in gear and started to drive off, but she turned back around.

She twisted back and strode to his truck. Standing at the opened passenger window she challenged, "Is there anything in that murky swamp you pretend to call a brain?"

Surprised, but instantly angry he recoiled, "You ever read anything by Stacy Schiff? How about Susan Jacoby?" He saw the blank look, "OK, I'll make it easy. How about Tacitus?" He was really mad, I'll make it even easier. Let's do some fiction, "Who wrote "Tender is the Night"? Don't know. Here's a hint. He wrote "The Great Gatsby" too. You like Hemingway? What do you think of Steinbeck?" Nodding to her house he added, "Got any Joyce in there?" He pushed the button and the passenger's window slowly started to roll up. He slowly drove off. He might be unemployed and lazy, but he wasn't totally stupid

She just stood there. Dumbfounded. Like what was that all about?

~~V~~

Colton got home after his afternoon with Madeline only to find everyone already in bed. His mom had a 6:00 a.m. start for Monday. Chelsea's mom was wasted on the sofa. And Chelsea, well Chelsea was up, but she'd made it clear she was in no mood for him. Colt stretched back, opened a beer, and turned on the tube. No need to worry; he wasn't expected anywhere till late afternoon Monday.

~~V~~

After searching through the Internet for a bunch of obscure people Madeline went to bed. After her ride and romp she was tired and sore all over. Horseback riding, though nothing new, always required the use of muscles not normally active. Then there was the other; the sex, she was sore, real sore and she didn't understand exactly why. Colton was well endowed, but she'd had bigger. He was a handsome and he was an attentive lover, but she'd been with better all the way around. She kept rubbing her neck where the leather had been, motherfucker thinks he's hot shit.

She thought back on some of her past experiences. There'd been Brad; her most recent. He was nothing - nowhere. There'd been a couple graduate students, but none of them were that great. The kid Ben Summersby; he'd been pretty good. There were a few others; a couple lawyers, a private investigator, some European kids she'd met and laid when hiking through Europe. It hadn't mattered, not really; big little, fun, boring, they'd all been the same, she'd been in control, she'd managed the scenes. But this Colton; who was he anyway?

It bothered her; like really? Who was Colton? Once upon a time he'd been a top notch student; she had his transcripts. He had leadership written all over him; she'd seen that at that stupid party. He was smart, handsome, and in spite of all the disclaimers he wasn't lazy, not in the greater sense. No asshole could be said to be lazy who seemed to work as hard as he did taking care of 'what's her name'. But he was still just a nobody; a man with no talent, no ambition, and no future, a loser. The best thing for her was to lose him, forget him, move on. That's exactly what she'd do - she'd move on.

~~V~~

The days dragged on... and on... and on... April died. May drifted by. It rained on Memorial Day.

It didn't take long, not more than a few weeks for Colton to realize the warehouse wasn't doing it. He didn't resent the mind numbing work, but he needed a lot more money. They had a health plan, but it had a high deductible with a ton of exceptions, and it allowed no preexisting conditions. Worse, it didn't kick in for ninety more days, and even then he'd have to be married to Chelsea when it did. Every day when he looked in on Chelsea he saw the signs. Their predicament would've been considered absurd if it wasn't so tragic. He wished... if they were just rich.

Christ, he needed money. He needed money for Chelsea! He had friends; no, not friends, people he knew. There were ways to make money, easy ways, fast ways. The Girtys had their own drug business. They pulled in thousands each week. All he had to do was say the word.

Colton had other options. There was old Mr. Gibrov down in Maryland. He had his own tidy little antique operation going. It was a shame, a fact of life, but people died. People died, houses were closed and boarded up, relatives lived hundreds of miles away, men showed up, evil men with trucks. They'd arrive about sundown, break down one door, back the truck up to it, spend the night loading it with antiques and valuables, then pull away just at sunup. Of course, Gibrov never sold the stuff, too dangerous, that stuff crossed the country. No, other stuff from other places got to his shop. Stealing antiques was a multi-million dollar operation. All he, Colton, had to do was make one call.

Then there was a guy, no a family who lived outside Ithaca. They didn't do anything; they paid others, but all over the Middle Atlantic there were heat pumps, lawn mowers, tractors, dirt bikes, cars and trucks, an endless list of appliances and types of machinery. It was easy to find guys, guys desperate like him, guys in need of money. The stuff would be stolen and hauled or driven off. Some of it ended up as far away as Uruguay in South America. Colton, he knew this.

So Colton sat at the bar. He sat there alone; he was angry, scared, and desperate. Chelsea was just a kid, a helpless, hapless, hopeless kid. He was all she had. He knew she was going to die, but if he could give her another year, another month, even just another day. He had the address in his hand; one night's work, a thousand dollars, a start anyway. Operations, medicines, therapy, things like that all cost money. Oh Jesus, why did it have to be like this? Why her? Why him? It wasn't fair. If they were rich Chelsea would be fine, but they weren't rich.

~~~V~~~

Madeline sat at her desk; her big desk with the HP desk top, printer, Fax machine, Toshiba laptop, her very own tablet safely tucked away in a drawer, diplomas spread across the wall, all the accouterments of a successful lawyer. If she was the lawyer, the cougar, the man killer then why did she feel so inadequate?

Over the past weeks she'd been handed a dozen minor problems; mostly contested wills, a number of zoning disputes, and a handful land settlements. Some of the negotiations were running into the thousands, they represented hefty legal fees for the firm and for herself, but it still irked her that Jenny got the big plum, point person on the new tech company contract. Worse, every time she picked up another surveyor's map she thought of 'him'; that nearly worthless do nothing who pretended to babysit his equally worthless slut niece. Madeline knew she was wasting her time.

She'd tried to get him off her mind. She'd buried herself in her work; she piled up mountains of hours making gobs of cash. That hadn't worked. Nothing worked. She thought maybe another tryst, find another man as a replacement. She'd done that. She thought about it.

She must have been half witted to think she'd forget one jerk-off by screwing another. The guy, a kid really, she picked out was a young real estate man who worked for one of the companies they did business with. Name was, is, Bogdan, 'Boogie', Gibrov. His family owned a small antique dealership in Frederick, Maryland with a second store she was told, in Baltimore.

Boogie was a good looking kid; tall, blond, blue eyed, muscular, really very charming, and very Jewish. He'd been in and out of their offices several times for settlements. She caught him one afternoon and made her move. He'd just finished something up when she invited him in her office on the pretense of selling her house. That turned out to be a mistake; she wished she'd never done it.