A LIFE WORTH LIVING
by Sam Douglas
Ashley Endicott had never been so scared in her whole life. Not as a child, in her dark, dark bedroom, alone and helpless against the shadows and sounds that were created by the animals and monsters sneaking into the room and creeping around and under the bed and in the closet. Not as a pre-teen, when late at night unable to sleep in her darkened bed, she knew for the first time deep in her heart that her mother would die someday and leave her all alone forever. Not as a teen-ager, when alone at night on a dark, unfamiliar street she met the strange, disheveled, wild man who stared madly into her eyes and touched her; and she knew he wanted to do something horrible to her. Not even in childbirth, when she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was going to die from the pain and the enormity of it all. Not even in childbirth.
Her fingers trembled, she couldn't control them. Her chest tightened, she couldn't breathe. Her knees shook, she couldn't stand. She sat behind the wheel of her late model blue sedan and waited in the dark for Johnny. And time dragged. She had done everything he had said. The tank was full of gas. She had $4000 in cash in her purse. The suitcases were in the trunk with some toiletries, some things for her, and a change of clothing for him. Even with the added risk of being discovered, she arrived here early on purpose. She couldn't afford to be late, that would certainly be catastrophic. But she was too early and time dragged and she was scared. She told herself to think good thoughts, pass the time and calm the fear with good thoughts.
Soon she would be with Johnny. All this would be behind them and they would be together and happy. All this would be behind them. Her marriage, his prison, and all the other things that had kept them apart would be history - a long, sad history would give way to a longer, happy future. They would be together forever and they would be happy forever - no, they would be ecstatic forever. The good thoughts flooded through her mind, into her body, and on to her soul. They freed her from the cold and also from the fear. With so bright a future, she told herself, how can you fear the present?
Time, time, time, time, time. It belongs to us all, it torments us all, it frustrates us all, it brings all things, it takes away all things. In the end, it defeats us all; but Ashley was not ready to look that far ahead. She just wanted the time that separated her from Johnny to pass quickly, not drag as it was doing now. Once they were together, it could drag again; she wanted it to drag again then.
Time had brought the miracle of her love for Johnny. She had waited through a mostly unhappy, often even traumatic, childhood of excess, overindulgence, lack of love, lack of even basic affection. All this resulted from being born accidentally into a family with more money than principles, more stuff than substance. From the inside, it appeared that a lot of the births in this social class were accidental. At least in the other classes, you knew who was a bastard. In her class, you were never sure, in a literal sense.
Ashley had learned early that she could have anything she wanted. Stuff was much cheaper than time; so her parents gave her all the stuff she wanted to occupy her and keep them from having to spend time with her or on her. But that worked for her, too. At all stages of her life, she used the stuff to get whatever she wanted from the people around her. It was absolutely amazing. Every bump in the road everywhere - home, school, stores, wherever - was smoothed by stuff. Money bought friends, favors, grades, deference, respect (or something close enough), and everything else worth having. In fact, Ashley used this barter system of the rich to get her through adolescence and high school and into college.
Even in college, the system still worked. Ashley knew she could barter her way to a doctorate if she wanted; but college wasn't all she had hoped it would be. It wasn't as much fun, it was a little too boring; so she dropped out. That left her in somewhat of a quandary. She had nothing to do with her time. She looked around at all the young men she had spent time with off and on through high school and decided the only thing to do was to marry one of them. So she did. Her method for choosing a husband was a little more sophisticated than eenie, meenie, miney, moe; but not much. She looked over the available pool, searched her memory for information about them, probed her acquaintances - especially the girls - for their knowledge, and decided which of the young men would make her the ideal mate at this point in her life. It gave her little pause that the young man she decided upon, Lance Endicott, was already engaged to Janet Wilcox, one of the other girls in their circle. Unfortunately for Janet, she was away at college and not able to watch Lance very closely. He, in turn, was vulnerable to the appeals of a
woman close and available.
It was too easy, no challenge at all. Lance didn't know what hit him. Before his head cleared, he had broken his engagement to Janet, asked Ashley to marry him, wed in one of the most extravagant events in years, and settled down in a house that served as a wedding gift from his parents. Before this phase of her life played itself out, Ashley even had a couple of children
But eventually, too soon really, she found herself at a loss again. She suddenly realized that her life, once more, had evolved into nothing. The husband was dull and boring, the children were confining and demanding, the house was overrated.
She needed more. And she didn't know where to find it. She looked around her and saw people mostly like herself, women who didn‘t need to do anything not doing anything. They spent their lives shopping, smoozing, gossiping, watching TV, and killing time while it returned the favor. She tried to look closer at these people. How did they differ from her or from each other? Did any of them seem happy? Satisfied? Tranquil? What made the difference?
Sometime during her detached, dejected analysis of the world around her, she ran into Tiffany Powers. Tiffany looked better than she had any right to look. She probably led the closest life to Ashley of anybody in the whole world. They had been born into the same rich, class conscious neighborhood and social strata. They'd lived the same "what do you want, what can we do for you" existence of excess, indulgence, privilege, and over-everything spoilage that defined the class. They'd gone to the same restricted (by money, ethnicity, and name) schools where all the kids showed up a little too elegant, a
little too overdressed, a little too self-indulgent, a little too demanding, a little too under motivated. And they'd graduated into convenience lives and convenience marriages that held no meaning and no motivation.
Yet Tiffany displayed a vitality that was actually visible. You could actually see that she was happy, a condition that none of the other women in her circle showed. Tiffany's eyes shone, her body vibrated, her smile radiated. She looked real, a characteristic that most women in their circle did not display.
Ashley was amazed, "Tiffany, Tiffany, you look wonderful. What is going on to make you so great looking?"
Tiffany was a little more subdued. "You think I look good?" she said. "Well, the fact of the matter is I feel good, most of the time. I think it's because I'm doing some things now that make me feel useful. I'm sort of helping other people and that makes me feel better about my own life."
"Well, darling," said Ashley, "I really need something to make me feel better about my life, too. What kind of things are you doing?"
"Charity," said Tiffany. "Volunteer work. I've worked with old people, with kids, with the sick, with the homeless. All that made me feel good, but they weren't anything like I'm doing now. You won't believe what I'm doing now and it's so fulfilling."
"What, what, what?"
"Hold your breath and don't say anything till you think a minute. It seems so scary, it seems so far-fetched, it seems so weird, it seems so unlike me. But it's great. I
work with adults, I work with intelligent people, I do creative stuff, and I help improve society. I make a difference, I make a contribution, I improve lives. And it makes me feel wonderful."
"What, what, what?" asked Ashley again.
"I'm working with prisoners," said Tiffany flatly.
"What?" Ashley asked in an entirely different tone. "Isn't that dangerous? Aren't they dangerous? Why in the world would you want to do such a thing? Aren't you afraid? Do you actually see these people, go in the same room with them? Couldn't they take you hostage?"
"Wait! Wait!" said Tiffany. "I told you to hold your breath and think a minute. First of all, it isn't dangerous. I'm never alone with a prisoner. There are always other people around. But more importantly, the prisoners I work with are not like what we think anyway. They are intelligent, caring people. They just want to improve themselves and make a better life for themselves. And some of them want to make conditions in the prison better. Like I said, it just gives me a feeling of doing something useful."
"But you do work with these people one on one, face to face, right?" Ashley persisted.
"Yes."
"Isn't that scary? Do they ever tell you what they did to get there in the first place? Couldn't they just reach out and hurt you?"
"Well," Tiffany admitted, "it was scary at first. But I think the chance of anyone actually hurting me is so remote that I don't even think about it anymore. I probably stand a better chance of getting struck by lightning. The guys we work with are sort of trustees. They've earned the right to do this kind of stuff, so it works out for everybody. Let‘s face it, we all come with baggage - most of it unchecked."
"How did you get into this?" Ashley asked.
"They were looking for people and I heard about it from one of the girls in another program I was working in. Frankly, they were looking for professionals like teachers, social workers, administrators, but I liked the idea so much I had Daddy call a few people."
How typical, Ashley thought, but she said, "Your father got you into this? Wasn't he afraid?"
"You know how it is, Ashley. Daddy has never ever denied me anything. As soon as I made him understand how important it was to me, he made the calls. You know how it is," Tiffany gave her that old girl network look.
"Okay," said Ashley, "If I wanted to, how could I get in? Do I need to get my daddy to make some calls?"
"Listen, if you're really serious, I can probably get you in," said Tiffany. "But you need to be really, really serious. I don't want anyone to think I pulled strings for someone who doesn't want to help."
"Oh, I want to help and I really need something to give meaning to my life." A tinge of desperation had crept into Ashley's voice. "I need to feel better about myself. I need a life worth living. I'll do anything to get that."
"Look, I can talk to the people I work with and probably get you into the program,
but the only way I'll do that is if you'll promise me you'll stay at least a year."
"Yes, oh, yes. I promise," said Ashley.
So Tiffany talked to the people in the Prisoner Rehabilitation Program, and they talked to Ashley and accepted her into the program.
Unfortunately, Ashley was not as inspired by the program as Tiffany was. The work was routine, mundane, took no imagination, and brought no fulfillment. And the people were uninspired, unattractive, bureaucratic, and boring. After the first week, she wanted to quit - the only reason she didn't was that promise to Tiffany. In other times, even that would not have been a deterrent. Heaven knows she'd broken enough promises before. But she had this nagging feeling that Tiffany might still come in handy in the future. So she didn't want to alienate her until the situation became absolutely unbearable or until she was absolutely sure Tiffany could no longer help her.
So she stuck it out, twice a week, Monday and Thursday, for a month, then a second month, and a third. And then she began to feel that the situation was becoming absolutely unbearable, she began to think about quitting even if it did alienate Tiffany. After all, she went into this for fulfillment and it was having the opposite effect. Now she felt she was unfulfilled and wasting her time. She made up her mind finally to tell her coordinator that she was quitting. She intended to do it on her Monday shift. She had made up her mind, she had stiffened her backbone, she had cast the die. Monday would be her last day.
But Monday was the day Johnny came into the program. He was there when Ashley came to work; and as soon as she saw him, she forgot all about her intention to
quit. Johnny was the first person she'd met in the program who seemed to fit her reason
for volunteering in the first place. He was intelligent, he wanted to use his time here in some productive way, and he was willing to work hard to help. And he was attractive. That, of course, was the first thing Ashley noticed; and that, of course, was the reason she didn't quit that Monday.
The project that Ashley and Johnny were assigned to collaborate on involved an educational program for prisoners. They were part of a group formulating a proposal for the institution to implement or to submit up their bureaucratic channels for guidance or approval. Of course, they were only a small part of the overall project, but their small part required them to work very closely together in the assigned time to fine tune features, define details, and troubleshoot issues. From their initial attraction, there seemed to arise a chemistry that made them think alike, work together well, and produce good results. And from that arose a deeper feeling that they both felt even as they worked.
This manifested itself at first only in lingering looks at each other as they discussed the project. That evolved into deep penetrating gazes that held far more meaning than the words that passed between them. Ashley literally felt Johnny's eyes bore into her eyes and beyond, into her heart and beyond, into her soul and beyond, into her very being; and there they stayed even when she was not with him. She felt Johnny with her constantly, he wouldn't let her think of anything except him. She couldn't follow a conversation, she couldn't concentrate on TV, she couldn't function away from Johnny. She realized this was illogical, irrational, crazy; but she couldn't help it. She felt like a lovesick teenager again. There was a rule against prisoners touching volunteers in any way; but as their relationship progressed, first Johnny and then Ashley found subtle and slight ways to circumvent that rule: an accidental brush of hands, a lingering bump of knees, a gentle swish of arms.
When these happened, Ashley felt Johnny's touches for hour, even days afterwards. Her skin burned where he had touched her - her hand, her arm, her knee. She felt a subtle throbbing on these spots as if her heart had found its way there and was beating just under the surface feeding off Johnny's energy. And she felt Johnny's touch even when she made love to Lance. Sex had long since become a bit perfunctory between them, a physiological need that had to be acknowledged occasionally. But her proximity to Johnny on the two days a week at the prison usually made her mind drift involuntarily to sex, really made her whole body turn to thoughts, feelings, fantasies of sex. On those days, after the two hours with Johnny, Ashley became agitated, anxious, maybe even a little guilty about her feelings. Lance was normally the benefactor on these days. Whether out of the sense of arousal or a feeling of guilt, Lance usually got a wife he had not experienced for a long time - a passionate, responsive, loving, adventurous lover. He thrilled at the change but did not question the reason. That it happened at all was enough for him.
Ashley never even considered Lance to be a part of the phenomenon. Her desire was fueled by Johnny and, at night in bed with Lance, her desire was satisfied by Johnny. Lance was an unrecognized nonentity in the process, a faceless, formless surrogate for Johnny whose face and hands and lips and tongue brought Ashley to breathless climax
behind her lid-shielded eyes.
The secret touches, the penetrating gazes led eventually, naturally to softly whispered and quietly spoken exchanges. Conversation of any kind was not easy, even that necessary for them to do their jobs. Anything beyond that was both difficult and dangerous. Any type of personal exchange was forbidden. The prisoners were not allowed to talk about conditions in the prison beyond what was necessary to coordinate their projects. They were strictly prohibited from discussing their personal lives inside or outside the prison. The authorities did not relish the idea of prisoners taking advantage of the generally well-to-do and influential volunteers. They could see absolutely no good that could come from the prisoners baring their lives to volunteers, whereas they could speculate or concoct all manner of harm and evil that could come from it.
The volunteers were cautioned by the coordinators and everyone else in the program that they were to remain as anonymous as possible in all their dealings with the prisoners. Their core beliefs, their personal lives, their circumstances, virtually everything that made them who they were must remain private and secure from the prisoners. And, of course, they were told, all this was for their own good - actually for the good of the prisoners and for the good of the volunteers. The prisoners must not become resentful of the people who came and went to the extent that it affected the projects. And the volunteers must certainly not become endangered by allowing the prisoners to know too much about them. There was absolutely no telling what that could lead to. Although the volunteers were never supposed to know why the particular prisoners they worked with were here, it was after all common knowledge that the prison
confined people who could be a genuine threat to them: murderers, kidnappers, blackmailers, fraud artists, even rapists.
But the human will finds a way. It took no more than the clandestine touches and the soul to soul visual messages to make Ashley know that she was deeply in love with Johnny, a love so deep that it absolutely transcended everything else in her spoiled, useless life before she met him. This love would be her reason for existing from now on. Never again would she question why she was on the earth, now she knew. And she knew just as surely that Johnny loved her just as deeply. There was no doubt. It was there in his touch, in his eyes.
And, of course, after a period of time, of testing the rules, of trying the limits, of working the system, they were able to communicate more fully. The looks became bolder, the touches became much bolder, and their words became more personal and meaningful. She learned that he really shouldn't even be here. His arrest and conviction were both big mistakes, a case of mistaken identity. But the criminal justice system does not lightly admit its mistakes; and now that he was here, it would be years before he was free again. But the biggest reward of their improved communication was that eventually she was able to tell him that she loved him and they were even able to steal a hurried kiss.
She felt that kiss for weeks, but it also added to their frustration. Their few hours together could sustain their love, but she knew it could never be consummated while Johnny was in prison. She cried over that, she cried because she loved him so much and because she could not love him enough. She felt that, as a man, he must be even more
frustrated by their deprivation than she was. After all, she still had Lance; but as her love for Johnny grew, he became more and more ineffectual. She began to whisper to Johnny how she wished he could be free so she could see him away from the prison. She told him how frustrated she was and how much she loved him.
After a few weeks of such soul bearing, Johnny sort of called her hand. He asked in the low, low voice that they had adopted in order to communicate, "Do you really want to see me away from here?"
"Oh, god, yes," she whispered, "more than anything in my life."
"You've got to mean that above all other things in your life," he said, "because I think I can get out of here but only with your help." As he spoke, he pointed to a line on the paper before them, hoping that gave the impression they were discussing the work.
Her first thought was that he knew a way he could get released, prove his innocence. Her mind began flitting around trying to think of ways her daddy could help. But as Johnny's finger scrolled down the paper between them and his voice outlined the plan, she suddenly realized he was talking about escaping.
Oh, my god, she asked herself, can I do that? Their time for that day was almost over. He asked her quietly if she was sure she would help him. His piercing eyes made her unable to answer the question any other way. "Yes," she said. He told her he'd give her the details on Thursday, her next shift.
The hours between her shifts at the prison always dragged. This time they moved even slower. The three days between Monday and Thursday became like three weeks, three months, three years. Before, just the anticipation of seeing Johnny and
experiencing his torrid looks and his furtive hands made the time refuse to pass. This time also brought the heightened anticipation of learning just how she could really see Johnny like a woman should really see her man.
But, of course, there was the beginning of the fear, too. Naturally, what they were doing, what she would do for Johnny was illegal. There was the fear of being caught, of being punished. But in truth, the anticipation of really seeing Johnny, of holding Johnny, of making love to Johnny overwhelmed any fear.
Her Thursday shift finally came. All the anticipation and apprehension became anti-climactic when he was finally able to tell her what she must do to help him. He couldn't give her any background or details. Time was too limited and their fear of discovery was too great. But all he wanted her to do was to meet him with a car on a dark road about a half-mile from the prison. During her wait for this shift, in the time that dragged between Monday and Thursday, she'd imagined everything from baking him a file in a cake to shooting their way out of the place. But he whispered that he could get out, she just needed to pick him up and drive him away. It also must happen the next night. Friday lockdown was a little more lax because the weekend schedule was more flexible and needed to be accommodated in advance. Through his tense lips and rasped monosyllables, Johnny told Ashley that he could get out easier and get a longer start by going just after lights out. She needed to be waiting in the car at 11 o'clock on Left Frontage Road just south of the prison.
And here she was, cold, frightened, and trembling with anticipation and apprehension. Time was still playing its fickle role. It dragged because something she
wanted, someone she wanted so desperately was somewhere in front of her in time. She didn't know exactly where he was or when time would finally allow him to be with her. So time played its spoiler role, and she waited.
From a detached, objective point of view, she hadn't really been here all that long, less than an hour. But the time had given her ample opportunity to speculate on all the terrible, terrible things that could happen as a result of her being here and doing this. She fought the images, she guided her mind to thoughts of Johnny and being with Johnny. Their first meaningful interaction would be tonight, she thought. Then she vetoed that thought, all their interactions had been meaningful, only this one would be so much more than that. It would be more than she had ever experienced with a man, more than she had ever experienced on earth. She literally exhausted herself with these kinds of thoughts and her mind tried on its own to get past them. She kept getting involuntary thoughts about where they would go from here. Was there a life of crime in her future? Would she live an underground life of middle-class deprivation? Would they be discovered 20 years from now by one of those "most wanted" TV shows? Her mind also toyed with the possibility of being shot down in the escape attempt or being immediately arrested and spending the next several years in jail. She'd never be able to return from any of these scenarios to the life she'd lived until today. She could not seriously make herself believe that would be any great loss, but the only thing that made any difference in any of the other fantasies was Johnny. And, in fact, he was the only difference. With him, any life would be exciting, worthwhile, and fulfilling; without him, no life, Douglas/Living - 16
regardless of wealth or advantages would be meaningful. Regardless, the die was cast.
She heard a rustle in the bushes along the road. Instinctively, she ducked down but sprang back up when she realized that it was Johnny. He was here! She opened the passenger door for him and he hurriedly got in. He had a gun in his hand, a shiny automatic, not very big.
"What are you doing with that?" she asked.
"Nothing, it was just a precaution," he said. "I would never have used it. It was just in case we needed to scare someone or get somebody to do something." He shoved the gun into his pocket and reached for her. He gave her a deep, penetrating kiss; but he broke it off much too soon when there was a knocking at the rear passenger side door. Ashley looked around, afraid they had been caught. A man dressed also in prison clothes stood outside the window.
"Let him in," said Johnny. "That's just Reynaldo, my cellmate."
"But there wasn't supposed to be anybody else. If I help him, that makes my crime worse," Ashley protested.
"I couldn't have gotten out without him. I promised him we'd drive him away from the prison. Now let him in."
Reluctantly she flipped the switch to unlock the back door, and Reynaldo got in. He was a smallish man, maybe five seven or five eight, probably 140 or 150 pounds, and hard looking and wiry. He also had a hard face, like he'd been in too many bad places and done too many bad things. His eyes were dark and menacing, his mouth was narrow and twisted, his nose was long and misshapen, and a scar ran the length of his left cheek from hairline to chin. Ashley thought Reynaldo fit almost exactly the stereotype of the
small time hoodlum in movies and on TV.
He smiled a little twisted grimace at Ashley and said, "Hi." She nodded.
Johnny's voice now acquired some urgency. "We've got to get out of here," he said, "I don't think they missed us yet, but who knows how long it will be." He told Ashley to drive north up the main road and try to get as much distance from the prison as possible.
Ashley drove north on the main road, conservatively, at the speed limit, carefully. She didn't want to take the risk of being stopped by the police for a traffic violation or of being involved in an accident. That would be absolutely the dumbest way to end this adventure.
Thinking out loud, Johnny assessed their situation and their chances. He figured that whenever the police missed him and Reynaldo, they'd spend a lot of time looking for them inside the prison. Then, unless they had reports of a car being parked nearby, they'd search the area around the prison for days probably. He figured that even when Ashley was reported missing, they'd take a little while to tie her to the break. But, he warned, they will tie it together sooner or later; and eventually they'll be looking for two men and a woman in a late model blue sedan. Their best bet, he thought, would be to drive as far as they could safely and then hold up and maybe try to change cars. The first concern was to get away from the vicinity of the prison as quickly as possible.
Ashley had been driving for hours when she started to nod. She didn't think Johnny or Reynaldo had slept, even though they'd had the opportunity. She supposed they were too excited about being free. In any event, she guessed that they were now far
enough away from the prison to stop for a while. She needed to. Johnny had been sitting beside her all the while. His hand rested lightly on her thigh and it had been there, moved only slightly all the time they'd traveled. He had told her quietly that they couldn't afford to do anything crazy, they couldn't afford to take any unnecessary chances, not even the miniscule chance that they'd suddenly pass a patrolman and draw his attention. Not even the chance that the car would waver slightly and be noticed. She agreed. They couldn't take any chances, no matter how slight. When they stopped, they'd have time for themselves. That's what this was all about anyway, time for themselves. They would do nothing to jeopardize that. Besides, as much as she wanted Johnny, she wouldn't feel comfortable with him doing anything while Reynaldo was in the back seat, awake and watching.
She saw a neon sign ahead and asked Johnny, "Do you think we can stop yet? I'm getting pretty tired."
"Yeah," he said. "I think so. We don't want to push it too far. See if you can get the car off the road, out of sight in back or something."
When they drew nearer, Ashley saw that the neon sign flashed "Vacancy" over a motel with an attached service station and restaurant. There were units facing both toward the road and to the rear. It seemed ideal for their needs. She stopped the car by the "Office" sign. Johnny said, "See if they have like two adjoining rooms in the rear." She smiled at him and got out.
They did have two adjoining rooms in the rear, and Ashley pulled the car around to their rooms. It was completely hidden from the road. They entered the room on the
left, number 117, and found it to be typical of virtually all motel rooms, worn but sterile. The universal aura of motels hovered, a scent of musk and a look of wear. It had the built-in queen sized bed with attached night stands, a dresser with a 19" TV on top, a small round table with three straight chairs, and a small bathroom. Here, thought Ashley, begins my new life.
Johnny pushed open the door to the adjoining room, number 119. It was identical in reverse to 117, the same bed, dresser, table, only on the opposite side of the room. "This ought to do fine," he said. "We can clean up a little, get a little rest, something to eat, some gas, and figure out what to do next." He looked at Reynaldo. "Why don't you take that one?" he said, motioning toward 119.
Reynaldo went through the adjoining door, and Johnny closed it and latched it behind him. He turned to Ashley and took her into his arms. He kissed her deeply on her mouth, with the hunger that had built up between them over the past several months. That hunger was strong in her because it validated the all consuming love that she felt for him, and it was even more intense in him because he had been deprived of all normal social contact for so long. It was still amazing to her that someone with her background, with her ancestry, with her life style could have found someone like Johnny, so real, so true-to-life, so authentic. She who, till now, had flittered her life away had finally and unbelievably found something worth devoting her life to. In the warmth and security of his arms now, she vowed silently that she would devote her life to him, that she would work tirelessly for his benefit, that all her efforts from now on would be spent making life better for him.
They showered together. It was the first time they'd seen each other's bodies. Neither was disappointed. Ashley again marveled at her good fortune. It was amazing to her that not only had she found a man worth giving her life to, but that he was also so beautiful. She questioned her use of that word only momentarily and decided that it was the best word to describe his compact and muscular body, his dark and handsome face. Johnny had no problem using the word "beautiful" to describe Ashley. She was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever been this close to. He let his eyes make the breathtaking journey up her body, from her long beautiful legs to her long blonde hair. He was breathing erratically just from the sight of her. He pulled her to him, kissed her quickly, and spun her around so he could wash her back. He let his hand linger as he washed her back and other parts.
She also washed his back and other parts. Soon they were both trembling from the contact and finding it very difficult to breathe. In the end they had to ease up a little so as not to spoil what was still to come. Ashley had packed toiletries in her case that made them both look better, feel better, smell better. Oh, god, she thought, it really is going to be perfect.
And it was. They fell closely together into the queen-sized bed and brought each other immediately and frantically to an intense, heart impeding, breath restricting, muscle contracting arousal. Their movements were uncontrolled and uncontrollable, the preliminaries threatened the finale, but they came together - gloriously and liberating. At the end, their movements became unified and coordinated, their bodies became like one well oiled machine conceived, designed, and manufactured to perform this action with an aesthetic and functional perfection.
It was just a little too short, she thought dreamily afterwards; he had been without a woman too long. I could have gone on longer, but there will be plenty of time for that, she smiled to herself.
She felt the bed shift and opened her eyes lazily to see him arising and walking toward the adjoining door. "Where are you going?" she asked.
He did not answer. Instead, he unlatched and opened the door and walked through. She heard his voice faintly on the other side, "Hey, Rey, your turn. She's pretty good, man."
Ashley was transfixed. Her mind could not process what had just occurred. She lay there naked in the middle of the queen-sized bed not comprehending what was going
on. Suddenly, Reynaldo was on the bed, then under the covers. He was naked, too. Even without realizing the full extent of the situation, Ashley knew this was wrong, this was something she did not want. She screamed, "Get away from me! Get out of here! Johnny, help me!" But Reynaldo got a hand over her mouth. She struggled; but as she'd observed, he was strong and wiry. She was absolutely no match for him.
"Be quiet, lady," he said. "You make too much noise, you gonna get us into trouble. Somebody's gonna call the cops. And don't call Johnny, this is okay with him. The best thing is for you to just relax. It won't take long. I ain't had a woman for a long time. And I ain't never had a classy lady like you. So just relax, relax, and try to enjoy it. It'll be over before you know it."
He loosened his grip a little to reach down between them; and she screamed again, "Johnny, help me!"
His hand came up from under the covers and slapped her hard on the side of her face. "Shut up," he said, grabbing her mouth again. "Look, lady, I don't want to hurt you, but we're going to do this. Johnny promised me if I'd help him get out. So the best thing for you to do is to shut up and be still. It won't take long." He paused and stared intently into her eyes, and she was afraid. "You gonna be quiet?" he asked. She sobbed but nodded, and he loosened his grip from her mouth again. Tears ran from her eyes, wetting her face and the sheets beneath her head, as he again fumbled down between them. She felt his hand between her legs and she sobbed audibly. "Quiet," he hissed, and she bit her lip to suppress the sound. He forced her legs apart, shifted his weight, and he was inside her. She bit her lip harder.
He was right. It didn't take long. After a few frantic thrusts, he collapsed on top
of her, panting like a dog. She cried quietly through it all. He rolled off her and said, "That wasn't so bad, was it, lady?"
She lay still crying but did not say anything. Reynaldo arose and said, "You ain't no fun at all, lady," and went back through the door to the next room.
After a minute, someone came back through the door. Ashley chanced a peek through almost closed eyelids. It was Johnny. She continued crying. "Listen, Ashley," he said, as he sat down on the bed. "You really need to get over this. Your acting this way is just going to make matters worse. You know you should have expected something like this anyway. After all, we're a couple of cons who haven't been this close to a woman for a couple of years. I thought you'd like it, having a couple of guys this crazy for you."
She didn't even try to talk, she just sobbed softly and squeezed her eyelids closely together. "But listen," Johnny continued. "We really don't want to hurt you so don't make us. We've got a lot to figure out and a lot to do. We could be in a lot of trouble if things don't go right. So you absolutely don't want to become part of our problem. You've got to get hold of yourself, and we'll figure out where we go from here tomorrow. Okay? Just get some sleep, and it will all look better in the morning."
He stretched out beside her and slid under the covers. His arm touched her and she moved away. "Okay," he said. "Go to sleep."
She lay there quietly, naked under the covers, and wide awake, tears still streaming down her face. After a while, a short while, he began snoring. She lay for a while longer. Then she eased up out of the bed, moving slowly and carefully so as not to
disturb him. But he slept on, snored on with no sign that he would awaken.
She tiptoed in the dark over to the small table and found the chair closest to the bathroom. This, she thought, was where Johnny left his clothes when they went into the shower. She was right. The clothes were there. She fumbled through them until she felt the hard, solid object in one of the pockets. It was the gun. Gingerly, she freed it from the pants. She held it in her hand and tried to see it in the dark. She didn't know anything about guns, but she needed to get this right the first time.
She'd left her clothes on the chair, too, when they went into the shower. Now she found them and slowly and quietly got dressed. It did not seem appropriate to be naked when she did what she had to do.
She tiptoed to the other side of the bed, the side where Johnny lay snoring. She pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Nothing, no bang, no click, no nothing. Safety, she thought, it's got a safety. Somewhere she had heard of that. She held the gun before her eyes again and felt for a button, a switch, a slide, anything that might be a safety. She found a little lever up high on the gun, near the top. She pushed it and it slid downward.
Again she pointed the gun at Johnny's head. Again she squeezed the trigger. And this time, the gun made a loud bang and jumped in her hand. A splash of bright red appeared on the bed beside Johnny's head. She recoiled in an emotion she could not identify - fear, loss, revulsion, something overwhelming. She almost fainted, she almost fell. But she was brought back to the scene at hand by Reynaldo rushing through the adjoining door, shouting, "What the hell's going on in here?"
She spun toward the door and pulled the trigger again - and again. Reynaldo was still naked, and she saw a splotch of red appear on his stomach and high on his chest almost simultaneously. He didn't say anything else. He stumbled back toward the door and slid to the floor.
Ashley heard stirring outside the room. She heard voices. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but she guessed they'd be in the room pretty soon. She sat down on one of the chairs to wait.
THE END
Jennifer says:
Good twist ending on this one, but too much "telling", and not much showing.
Plot - 19
Characters - 16
Mechanics - 23
Enjoyment - 19
TOTAL - 77
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