Susan
The Amazing Adventures of Sara Corel
A novel by Toomey

Chapter Eight: Reconciliation

    Alex was starting up the stairs to turn in when he heard the front door open again. He turned around and called out, "Sara?"
    It was Dinah. She was completely covered with a very melodramatic and unseasonable trench coat. She was even wearing a hat, looking like something from a very bad spy movie. He stared at her for what seemed like minutes while she carefully locked the door behind her and planted herself in the middle of the living room, confronting him.
    He tried to placate her. "I'm really sorry about what I said. I don't know why I got off on that subject."
    "I don't give a damn about that," she said, her voice as low as she could make it.
    Alex couldn't decide if she was trying to sound menacing or sultry. Either way, he was decidedly uncomfortable. "Do you want to sit down?"
    She ignored him. "Why did you decide to go out with me?"
    Uh-oh, he thought. "You asked me to call you, that night at Birraporetti's."
    "Did you find me amusing?"
    He really didn't like this line of questioning, but he felt trapped. Jeez, if she's flipped out or something, he sure hoped Sara was paying attention. "I don't think there's a good answer to a question like that."
    "Did you find me attractive?"
    "What are you getting at?"
    "Did you feel sorry for me?"
    "No! Look, I called you because I thought maybe you wanted to see me and I wouldn't mind seeing you. I was intrigued. And, frankly, I wasn't getting a lot of offers. Hey, I'm a dirt-poor musician, living in a rat hole, who works Saturday nights, reads for fun and everybody calls 'Brainiac'. I took a chance. That's how people get together. Anyway, you seemed to be pretty interesting and... Certainly different..." He ran out of things to say.
    "And built like a brick shithouse?"
    "Uh... I wouldn't put it that way. But... I guess you could..." he stammered on, sweating now.
    "Like a great big brick shithouse. Right?"
    Yeah, if you happened to like enormous amazons who worked out fanatically. Her size and obvious strength made her frightfully intimidating and she knew it. Lacking the conventional feminine charms, she used her physical power and outrageous proportions like a weapon in her professional capacity -- and had nothing else to fall back on as a person.
    "Sure," he told her, wondering if he should be worried.
    "Tell me."
    "Oh, come on..."
    "Tell me!"
    "Likeagreatbigbrickshithouse," he mumbled, "OK?"
    "Tell me you noticed."
    "Sure, I noticed." Oh, he'd noticed, alright.
    "What did you notice?"
    "You know..." He was beginning to feel like he was the subject of one of her infamous cross-examinations.
    "Tell me."
    "I... I couldn't help but notice the way you dressed sometimes. You... The way you ... It was -- very exciting." He was feeling a little short of breath.
    "Did you like that?"
    "Yes." It was a whisper.
    "Tell me what you liked."
    "I liked it when you'd turn suddenly and your... You brushed against my arm." Deliberately, it would seem. He'd never dared to follow up. Maybe he should have -- but it always felt awkward.
    "What did you want to do when I did that?"
    He could only stand there. Breathing heavily. Trying not to show it.
    "Tell me," she demanded.
    "I wanted to..."
    "To what?"
    "Touch you."
    "Why didn't you?"
    "I didn't know if it would be alright."
    "So you controlled yourself," she said contemptuously.
    "Well... Sure. Jeez, I can't read your mind, and you... I mean, you're..."
    "And when I went home -- did you control yourself then?"
    This was becoming so... Intense. It was like being stripped naked in his mind. What did she want?
    "Tell me," she ground on remorselessly.
    "No." His face was burning.
    "No, you didn't control yourself?"
    "I... What do you think? I guess you could put it that way."
    "Put it that way."
    God, this was embarrassing. "I can't..."
    "Say it," she demanded.
    He gulped, "I... I lost control."
    "Did you think about me when you lost control?"
    "Yes"
    "You thought about my body?"
    "Yes"
    "Was it good?"
    "It was..." His eyes were riveted on her, breath flying in and out of his open mouth.
    "You selfish bastard," she spat.
    "What...?" He felt like he'd been kicked somehow.
    "I went home, and you used me."
    "But... I didn't do anything to you."
    "You selfish bastard," she repeated.
    "I thought there was no chance for us. That you'd be going back to New York. You only told me tonight that you'd be staying in Houston."
    "You want forever?"
    "Well, yeah, I guess. I'm not into affairs. Because I can't stand the way they end."
    "So why did you go out with me?"
    "I liked you. I thought we could be friends. I thought we were friends."
    "So your friends make you lose control?"
    "No. I mean... I don't know."
    "Do you use all of your friends like this?"
    "No."
    "Maybe I should use you."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Do you want me to use you?"
    She was hammering him again. "I don't know."
    "I think you do."
    "What are you going to do?"
    "Tell me you want me to do."
    Alex's will was crumbling under her onslaught. Was this her idea of seduction? Is this how a lawyer commits rape? Did he have a choice? Did he want to have a choice?
    "OK," he croaked.
    "Tell me," she snapped.
    "I want you..." he whispered.
    "You want me to do what?"
    "I want you to use me."
    "Turn around."
    Not wanting to break the spell, he slowly turned, facing the stairs.
    "Up," she ordered.
    "Upstairs?" he asked.
    "Now," she barked, pushing him roughly in the back.
    He stumbled, catching himself at the foot of the stairs, and clambered up, Dinah closing in behind. She grabbed his arm at the top and flung him into the master bedroom.
    "Stand here," she motioned him to the foot of the four-poster bed.
    She grabbed his left arm, pinned it to a post, reached beneath her overcoat and brought out a piece of golden rope, wrapping the end around his wrist and the post. With the other end of the rope, she secured his right wrist to the opposite post.
    He was trapped. He didn't care. With great ferocity, she tore his clothes into shreds, flinging the tattered pieces into the corners. Then she stood before him, scanning every inch of his exposed body. She took her time. It took forever.
    Finally, seemingly satisfied at his condition, she flipped the hat away from her head, shaking out her hair. In the dim light seeping through the bedroom curtains from the garish blue streetlight outside, it fell in inky rivulets, curling tightly across her shoulders. There was some glinting, metallic headband in her hair, with a crowning point.
    Each button of the trenchcoat slowly gave way until every one was undone. In one single, fluid motion, she whipped it off, twirling like a matador's cape, to fall in a heap on the floor behind her.
    "I'll show you a real superhero," she growled.
    She was wearing high-heeled boots, coming up nearly to her knees. Wide, plain bracelets on her wrists. A satiny, star-spangled tight outfit, like a one-piece bathing suit, with a golden emblem across her chest. The costume emphasized her monumental proportions in a way that made Alex's head swim deliriously, from the four-inch heels to the straining material buttressing her mighty top.   
    She began to pose in well-rehearsed moves, the harsh light adding relief to every contour. She showed him things he'd never dared imagine, until his ragged panting seemed about to burst his lungs. She swung around from one position to another, setting off cascades of ponderous ripples and waves in places he ached to caress.
    Then she crowded close to him, coming so close but not touching, now considering him from one side, now from the other, now crouching low before him. Finally, she stretched out to her full, augmented height, bringing herself so tantalizingly close to his face.
    "Tell me what you see."
    "I see your body."
    "Do you like it?"
    "I love it."
    "Do you want it?"
    "More than life."
    "Do you need it?"
    "Now," he gasped. "Always."
    She reached behind her and meticulously undid the zipper, one ratcheting tooth at a time, the front of her costume giving way until only friction kept it from slipping down. She gave a marvelous shake, and it fell away with a slight rustle.
    She bent down until her lips were level with his, then slowly brought them together in the dark shadow of her hair. There, she teased him, lightly caressing, not yet plunging into the release of total surrender.
    When forever finally ended, in another, distant part of the small universe they now shared, they came together as lovers. She began their journey together with slow, small, tremulous steps, bringing them along in a cascade of ever-mounting rhythmic movements.
    In this manner she used him. He was in every way hers to control. She had what she wanted and, in having, possessed his will, his body, his mind, his soul. In the end, she surrendered, giving up every shred of her control and his as well.
    And so they passed unto the morning...

© Patrick Hill, 2000