Chapter 225: Foppa XVIII

Chapter 225: Foppa XVIII—I Thought I Could

 

            Peter was tired, his muscles were sore, his skin felt raw, he had a sleepiness stinging in his eyes that he hadn’t felt in a while. In a way he had thought that he would never feel it again, at least not with her. Today had been an off day, and Peter had thought that he would perhaps sleep in, maybe go out with Jo for a bite to eat.

            Rest had not been in the cards. Josefina had found herself, her passion, her playfulness and her appetite was invigorated to a dizzying intensity. Peter had felt it all, had not complained, had laughed and savored every moment of it. How could he have gone so long without this?

            He was certain of it by that early evening that this woman was a goddess, was a gift, was perfection. She never seemed to tire. He couldn’t get enough of her glossy hair falling over his flesh, of her smooth, edible brown skin, of her teeth nipping his body in places that brought chilled fear out of him. And her long, languid moans, girlish sighs, everything she did seemed perfectly tailored to his fantasies.

            “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked as he pressed his hand into her cheek, watched the brilliance in her dark eyes as she smiled coyly and slid off his body. She didn’t bother to cover herself, didn’t seem annoyed by his gaze over her nakedness as she walked to the tall windows in his bedroom and peeked through the curtains.

            “I’m hungry,” she said.

            Peter stretched and yawned and rested his hands behind his head. “Want to go out?”

            “No,” Jo said in a simple voice, “We have some things here, right? I could make something.”

            “You..” Peter began, trying to remember if he had ever seen her cook before.

            “Don’t!” Jo snapped in a voice without malice, “Don’t be surprised that I can cook.”

            Peter grinned, “Well I didn’t know you…”

            “You’re right,” Jo said and she turned around, “I can’t really cook all that much, Pete can ya hand me that robe, it’s getting cold.” Peter snatched her slippery, satin robe and tossed it to her, watched in boyish fascination as she slid her long, lean form into it. “But I can make some things, you like pasta? I can make some sauce.”

            Peter felt his stomach quake at the mention of food. “Sure, go for it,” he said.

            Peter tried feebly to help her in the kitchen as she seemed to know what she was doing, and in return she kicked him out, telling him to take a bath or something. So he took a shower, lingering in the steaming water and closing his eyes frequently to relive the scents of the morning, the tastes of the afternoon, the blissful exhausted naps all day. By the time he sauntered out of the bathroom, it was to the smells of bubbling pasta sauce and buttered bread baking.

            “Garlic toast?” he asked.

            Jo smiled as she sampled a string of pasta. “Yup.”

            The table was already set and Peter ran his hand over the surface of it. He watched her as he helped her carry the food in, he could see glimpses of her skin through the openings in the loosely tied robe and for some reason it made his stomach growl more fiercely.

            He was delighted with the sauce and bread, devoured it and was mostly through his plate when he realized that he hadn’t said one word to Jo about it. He felt his cheeks burn and he looked at her, half smiled and then swallowed. She had her eyebrows raised in an amused sort of way. “It’s delicious,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”

Jo shrugged, the shoulder of her robe slid down, revealed skin with a faint red mark on it.

            “Just hearing you inhale it is compliment enough babe,” she said.

            “It’s better than restaurant food,” he said and shoveled another bite into his mouth.

            Jo didn’t reply as she took a large swallow of her red wine, Peter had already had three glasses with his food, he didn’t notice how much she had consumed but he did notice that the tall bottle was empty.

            “Ooooh,” Jo sighed in a tired voice, “I should have made a cheesecake or something. It would have been nice.”

            “Nah,” Peter said. “We don’t need that much sugar. This was great.”

            Jo hiccupped and laughed quietly. “I think I’m sleepy now,” she said. “Italian food, ugh you eat it and you’re stuffed for three days.”

            Peter reached over and grabbed her hand, kissed her delicate knuckles.

 

            Peter woke up later that night, Josefina wasn’t next to him. He ran his hand over the empty side of the bed and felt it was still warm. He rolled over; saw her standing in front of the window again, the curtains open and the street lights shining onto her body, illuminating her skin to a soft darkish blue.

            “Jo,” he said, “Honey, they can probably see you across the street.”

            “That’s okay,” Jo said in a soft voice, “They can just look and dream.”

            “Come on,” Peter replied, “Come back to bed.”

            Jo didn’t say anything as she came back to bed, slid under the covers and rolled on her side to face him. Peter could see the outlines of her face. “Did you have another dream?” he asked.

            “Nah,” Jo replied. “I haven’t had one since… since then. I don’t dream that often you know.”

            Peter reached over and ran a finger over her cheek. “Neither do I.”

            Jo pressed her hand over his and then she turned it over, traced a finger over his palm. “What sticks out most in your mind when you think of your youth?” she asked.

            Peter furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

            “Well,” Jo said. “What do you think of when you close your eyes and you’re remembering the most vivid, intense thing you did when you were young. Good or bad? I was just wondering.”

            Instantly Peter knew what she meant, he heard, saw, felt it all over again. But he didn’t feel as if he should tell her.

            “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Jo said. “It’s okay, I mean I was curious because it’s sort of how we are defined. I’ve always thought that much. Sometimes things happen that are so powerful that we cannot shake it from our brains, and we become. You know?”

            Peter closed his eyes, felt almost obligated and yet somehow safe.

            “I was thirteen,” he said. Paused. He didn’t want to continue but he could feel her curiosity tickling his fancy. “I had this really good friend, he lived across town and in the summer we would sometimes run away for a day or two. We’d pretend we were homeless kids, thought that it made us cool.”

            “Sure,” Jo said. “Sounds fun.”

            “Yeah, and I remember one time when Markus, that’s his name,” Peter continued, “he told me about this place where older teens would hook up, or shoot up. So we went there, and it was just this abandoned, smelly house full of garbage.”

            “Oh yeah?” Jo said and she sat up, he could hear the curious expectation in her voice.

            “Yeah,” Peter said, knew he shouldn’t say too much more but to hell with it. “There was no one there but there was a whole pile of porn magazines, empty syringes, leftovers. Markus wanted to go, but I grabbed one of the magazines and started looking at it…”

            “And?” Jo asked.

            Peter sighed and he leaned on an elbow. “Markus and I, we were just horny kids you know? So we just sat on that dirty floor and looked at all the pictures, I remember Markus kept making these gasping noises and I just thought I was gonna blow up, I mean the women in the magazines they weren’t like the naked women we saw on the beach or like our fat or scrawny relatives at home.”

            “First time porn eh?” Jo said and she ruffled her fingers through his hair. “That’s sweet.”

            Peter laughed, “Nah, that’s not all.”

            “Really?” Jo said in a high voice.

            Peter closed his eyes. “We’ve never told anyone. Right as we were.. you know… this girl walks in and laughs. We jumped and everything and she was teasing us about jerking off in front of a stupid magazine and she…”

            “She?” Jo prompted and Peter ran his tongue over his lips, the memory, the saltiness on his lips was so much more vivid now that he was actually talking about it, letting her know. He went into great detail, perhaps even making some of it up as he told Jo all about that blond girl with the pale, icy blue eyes. She had seemed a woman then, an older woman, exciting and forbidden but now as he thought about it, she couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

            He told her about how he held his breath when she blocked the doorway and asked them if they wanted to try the real thing, and at the same time she had taken off her clothes and he knew he was having a heart attack. He told her about how he thought his brain was going to shut down as he watched her first in Markus’ lap, jerking her hips over him until the boy passed out with pleasure and then his own panic when she turned to him, and yes, he came out changed, lusty, hungry.

            “We never saw her again,” Peter said, “I wonder about her sometimes, who she is now, what’s she’s doing. I never even knew her name.”

            “Mmm,” Jo said in a pensive voice, “how lovely. I can just imagine you, at one time… a virgin.” She laughed.

            Peter grinned, felt truly intimate now. An erotically charged story like that and he didn’t have the urge to pounce her and ravish. He just felt content in the narrative, and in sharing something completely private with her. He and Markus had never even brought it up to each other again. They had just grinned like idiots for a month after that and had lived content with the luscious little secret.

            “Your turn,” Peter said. “Come on put out!”

            There was a long silence and finally Jo sighed. “I was thirteen too.”

            There was another long silence and this time Peter could feel the heavy weight of it. He felt his pulse slow with worry, and he felt awkward. He sensed something painful not being said, she had not said a word other than the phrase but the fatalistic lilt to it bothered him.

            “Yeah?” Peter said.

            Another long silence and Jo sighed again. “Peter,” she said in a voice as weak as a young girl’s. “I can’t… I thought I could but I can’t.”