| "...as my nights have been continuously torn by dreams, nightmares, fantasies. Call them what you want. They plague me. The same ones. Over and over. God help me. The tall blonde had returned and he stood at the side of my high, rod iron bed. He parts the curtains so that a sliver of moonlight peeks in, cutting iridescent slices in my dark, sand toned body. My breathing quickens as he pulls back my covers and enters my bed. He pushes my white cotton gown up over my taut breasts, then over my head, tossing it to the floor as he let his long flat fingers trace down the faint lines of muscle that cascade down my stomach and into the tangles of dark pubic hairs. He has on no clothes as well...he never does. His skin is a soft pecan color, tanned from the Floridian sun. And the tiny cilia hairs on his sculpted stomach and arms glisten a golden hue within the moonlight peeking into the room. His hands continue on. Down my thighs, up the insides just to where the lips of my thirsting cunt slightly open and then back up again. Along my sides, up to my swelling tits and even browner, firmer nipples. He stops and takes one of them between his fingers and rolls it tight like the final stages in the rolling of a joint. Back and forth. Back and forth. I feel him staring down at me with those perfect ice-blues burning through my eyelids, which are frozen shut. I can then feel him bending towards me, the warmth of his body fluttering over my skin as he draws nearer and nearer. I feel the pressure of his weight on my breasts and his hot breath spread a circle of heat first on my chest and then focused smaller and smaller till it hovers over my lips. His lips brush mine, soft...gentle at first. Soft as an angel's wings. I stir a bit as they come back, cautiously suctioning every inner reach, every crease of my mouth. I am kissing back. Yet strangely, still unable to move. To touch the damp, warm skin of his back or to draw him further into me. He is just so gentle in my mouth, as always, the pressure of his hands on my body however, steadily increasing. He inches down from my mouth to my chin. My chin to my neck. Hungrily suckling my tender skin. Honey blonde hair bobbing back and forth across my shoulders. Over my breasts capturing the rock hard nipples within his lips, rubbing his huge hands up and down my stomach. I try as hard as I can. As hard as I always do to wake, to participate, to touch his head, to move my body into his, but my arms, my body remains pinned to the bed. I can not budge. He moves to my inner thighs and kisses so softly, his lips might has well not even touch my skin. My cunt gives way to a flood of juices as it waters for the touch of his cotton weighted lips against the folds. My blonde, my tease, my love...then stands. My heart beat triples and the organ begins to sink as I feel the circle of heat leave me only to be replaced by the coolness of the dagger piercing air around me. I lay there and watch helplessly as he pulls the covers tightly around me, closes the curtains and leaves. I never fully awaken from this dream, this nightmare, this fantasy. Only adjust to the reality, the irony of it all as I contin..." "I do apologize Nick for taking so long with her. She didn't have her nap today." "No, its ok," I blurted out, shoving the journal back to the corner of the couch, where I had found it as she returned to the living room. I concluded that she must have been engaged in some writing just before I had dropped by as I had found it open to a half finished entry. I quickly stood up and beat her to the entrance of the room, hopefully preventing her from discovering my surely unwanted intrusiveness, invasion into her life, her mind, her innermost thoughts. Her innermost thoughts, now my innermost thoughts resting heavy on my mine, among other things. "Uuuhhh...Can I...get you something to drink?" she asks me tentatively as I notice her eyes never actually settle on mine as she speaks in my general direction. "Sure." ----- The awkwardness cloaked the room, thick and creamy as vanilla icing on a cake, mixing perfectly with the deafening silence settled throughout the condo. Jennifer stood nearby, leaned against the kitchen counter, her left arm wrapped around her waist, the fingers on her right hand resting on quivering lips as tears dropped, one by one from her eyes. I sat there expressionless, my eyes lowered to the floor while the humongous blow to my ego, to my heart, to my life sunk in. Yes ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. I, Nicolas Gene Carter...am a father. I am a father. You know, it's funny. Mostly because at the time, it wasn't so much the actual statement, the permanent declaration of my parental status that was so mind blowing. It was the reinforcement of a statement I had held captive, buried in the deepest, darkest confines of my innermost self. The unrelenting nagging of knowing without knowing for sure plaguing my every move, my every thought. But now, I knew the truth. "I mean, God Nick. Do you know how many times I called you? How many times I tried to reach you to tell you?" "I know." "Then how could you do that? To me, to Kaylie? How could you act like I never even existed?" "I don't know." "Didn't you care? About me? About her?" The pace of my heart sped up, along with my breathing as my mind raced about, scrambling to try to find words to explain it all, my state of mind then. My state of mind now. I searched frantically for the magic words to make everything better. The way it used to be. I mean, I was, after all Nick Carter. The imminent heartthrob of one of the most successful "boy bands" in the world to date. Able to make women laugh, cry, swoon, smile at the drop of a dime. The one most sought after. The one who always knew what to say. Could always talk or joke his way out of anything. Of course, that was then and this was now. This wasn't some 13 year old little girl begging for an autograph. This wasn't some media savvy Teen People columnist trying to dig up the latest dirt on what I look for in a girl. Those superb, then unflappable luxuries that accompanied that worldwide, super star status that was the Backstreet Boys had dried up long ago. That diamond studded, Celebrity etched golden crutch that supported me and my every move had been quickly snapped in two the second I stepped foot into that condo. Here I was. The famous Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys. Once again bringing yet another woman to tears. However, these were no tears of excitement or joy. But tears of pain. Tears of hurt. Here I was. The famous Nick Carter. Powerless to stop them. So, I did all I could do at that point. The only thing I thought might help. Might get me out of the seemingly bottomless pit I had dug around myself. Might solve this looming, inescapable predicament that had trailed my heels for years, and always would. Unless, at this precise moment, I... ***** It was December and ninety-two degrees when we arrived in Tampa. It was beyond me why I could actually feel the slightest breeze sweeping across my face, undoubtedly uncharacteristic of that ever tropic weather I had grown so accustomed to, sending a minute chill through the pores of my sweat prickled face. I was many things that December day, when we arrived in Tampa. Scared...anxious...desperately homesick for the life I had expeditiously left behind. A vast mixture of pleasant as well as dreadful memories plagued short trip, forcing me to face the main reasons behind my initial decision to leave. It was in no way as simple as accepting a new job. Or an invitation to some exclusive party. I was afraid. Of many things. Of what potentially lied ahead. Of the great chance of an unfortunate recurrence of a certain incident we are all too familiar with. Nick Carter was once again, after four long years, the first man I had graced with my trust. But the first time, its was different. I was only a kid. I didn't know any better. And even more than that, I had desired him with just this...unremitting passion and desire. I still did. After all this time. The whole time he was there in my condo that day he just decided to drop by, I had to fight a downhill battle with myself. One half of my mind screamed at the other half, relentlessly defending its rationale. It screamed that he was too busy, too idealistic, too incapable of despising me, too susceptible to the undercurrents of...the warden. As he put it. Then, the other half of my mind, the dreamy, optimistic, longing, desperate half ruthlessly reminded me of the magical, everlasting bond between the two of us. The tie that welded me to him in spite of my fears, my anxieties, my internal warnings. And I say this, mind you, without a proud bone in my body. I tried as hard as I could to rip it from my thoughts, sledgehammer it with rationalizations, make it invisible with fatigue, but it still remained. And always would. Until the day it died. Until the day she died. My daughter. Our daughter. Kaylie. I remembered our lovemaking. God, how could I forget it? How he would enter me and stay within me, rocking and pumping and moving for hours. And hours. And hours. And then a few more. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating...Or maybe not. You be the judge. Even then, the moments when I could sense his abandonment, I came. Instantly. Over and over. His passion for me was in raw form, untamed. Making love to Nick had been virtually effortless for me, definitely pleasurable, luxurious, continuous orgasms all around. As many as I could ever have wanted. I knew that his abrupt decision to leave had hurt him. It hurt me as well. Hurt which had now swollen to the grand size of hostility and resentment. For leaving me. For leaving her. But the passion had faded into a mere fetish for some passionate, lascivious replication of sexual acts a figment of the past. It was time to face it. The joy was gone. Our fears of the possibility of loving each other so thoroughly had destroyed it. What we had. For us to part, I felt, was a crime against humanity. And we were the criminals. Warden's orders. I could not love this man nor could he love me. Although Nick and I almost proved him wrong. Almost. The ride to Nick's home was quiet. That familiar friend of ours, awkward, sitting comfortably in the back seat, next to Kaylie. The forty minute ride from the air port easily turning into what seemed to be a four hour ride. When we finally pulled into the drive way and I set eyes on our new home, you would have needed a snow shovel to scrape up my gaping jaw from my lap. You could have imagined my initial surprise when the words, "Why don't you move into my house?" escaped from his lips that day he decided to drop by. But of course, that's what I expected. A house. Not what looked like a full scale version of the condominium building with which we had just parted. I could see Nick's head starting to turn in my general direction out of the corner of my eye and didn't want to let on to any showing of pleased or astonished emotions just yet, so I quickly scooped up my jaw and replaced it as we came to a stop further up the driveway. "You okay?" he asked as he turned off the engine, peering over at me as I continued to stare straight ahead. Honestly, I wanted so much to be cheerful, to be satisfied with my choice to be here. But I could help but wonder...Oh god. Just so many things. However, my mood was stuck on solemn and stubborn. And he could sense it. "Don't worry Jen. You made the right decision. Every, everything's gonna be okay." I listened with skepticism but thought with optimism. Well, at least he's trying, I thought to myself. Perhaps I should too. I climbed out of the truck, and opened the passenger side door, quickly unbuckling Kaylie from her carseat. I placed her on the ground and ran my fingers through her curls as she stood there gazing up at me with hazy blue, questioning eyes. Soon after, Nick came around to our side of the truck, a few bags slung over his shoulder. He glanced down at Kaylie and smiled, causing her to cower behind my leg, gripping tightly to my hand, peeking up at him and then lowering her eyes to the concrete. "She's shy," he barely spoke, in an almost hurt ridden tone. "Well, she doesn't know you," I mechanically answered in a sort of annoyed tone, although at the sight of his reaction, immediately sorry for making the statement. But...for what? I mean, it was the truth. I don't know. Maybe just a little sorry for saying it in that tone. Maybe. "So, I guess I'll help get the rest of the ba..." "Well, its about time you got home! I've been waiting for you all week long!" My head quickly spun around as an unfamiliar voice entered the scene, and unfamiliar body entered the vicinity, an unfamiliar person entered my life. "And hi there. How are you? Oh Nick, she's absolutely beautiful," the girl cooed as she bent down and stroked a few of Kaylie's curls. My eyes shot from this tall, thin, blonde female back over to Nick, a blank look on his face as he looked on and listened. "Jennifer...I'd like you to meet my friend Aman..." "Amanda," the woman abruptly cut in, moving in-between Nick and myself, moving right in front of my face. "Amanda Wiliford. It's nice to meet you." She had no choice but to take my hand and manually shake it as I was not about to lift an inviting hand to her. I had no idea who this woman was, nor did I give a damn at this point. Therefore, I had no problems matching her razor sharp gaze, now fixed on me as she continued with her well guised welcome. "Now, I'm sure you had a long trip. Shall we get you inside and get you all unpacked?" |