Lost and Longing

Chapter One

Diane

"I know why the caged bird sings…."

Before I am able to turn another page in the book I’ve been meaning to read for weeks, there is a knock on my bedroom door and a simple message is delivered. He’s ready for you now miss.

My husband is calling for me. I put my matching robe on over my silk nightgown and approach the door. My bedroom is on the far side of the house. A moderate sized bedroom where you might put the unwanted stepchild or obnoxiously embarrassing relative. I make the trek to the main portion of the house. I see Christopher in the hallway. He looks at me, almost sympathetically, and I almost like him for a moment. Almost. He is the main orchestrator of what I loosely call my life. Christopher Saunders, my husband’s campaign manager, fixer, advisor, his right hand. That’s the short list, the other things I can’t stomach to say out loud or in my head. We briefly acknowledge each other and he moves off toward the front of the mansion. I used to ask if he’d be back tonight. And he would respond with yes and sometimes no. Tonight was going to be a ‘no’ night. There were arrangements to be made and people to organize. It was the norm of the ever busy life of a politician.

David Eugene Prinledge was preparing to run for governor. As a councilman he had amassed a pretty decent following and had actually done some good for the community. He was known as a man of his word and unlike many of his political colleagues he had actually come through on all of his promises. His charisma, like-ability, and damn good looks didn’t hurt either. His family was multiple generations wealthy, tracing all the way back to Roman times. It seems no Prinledge had gotten involved in politics even though the family had been around for so long. David was third generation that had political aspirations. When his grandfather had gotten bitten by the political bug it had spread throughout the family. Everyone had a degree, was married or prepped to marry strategically, and maintained a prestigious resume of activities and charitable events.

Christopher acknowledges me one more time with a slow nod and for the briefest of moments I thought I was going to hear an apology from him. Not that all of this was completely his fault. Political life is not for the faint of heart. I had been warned about what I was getting in to. The plan had been explained to me explicitly. It’s amazing the things we actually listen to and choose to hear when we have stars in our eyes.

Christopher had selected me to give the budding politician ‘street cred’ or as Christopher put it to me, look legitimate in the hood. Wooing, dating and then marrying a ‘homegirl’, and not just any homegirl, but a black woman that did great in school and excelled in all she did. One who operated a successful business, while coming from a wonderful middle class family and looked like a runway model was what he needed to put him over the top with voters. White men were marrying black women and it was the ‘in’ thing to do. I was to be the nontraditional eye candy that most politicians hoped for. I knew people, wealthy people. As an upscale party planner, I had been in some of the most famous families in America’s homes and organized their parties, baby showers, engagement luncheons, weddings, bar mitzvahs, and funerals. My network could put the top CEOs to shame. The Prinledge family had resisted at first. I wasn’t the blond, blue-eyed debutante or the brunette with hazel eyes that came from old money. Those were the usual and expected types. My work was well respected and received. The fact that I had a brain, looked good, and had no political aspirations whatsoever was a plus. Christopher would bring the family around saying this would move the family forward politically. How else are rich white people going to relate to minorities if they don’t know any, and employing them does not count? Since David was the youngest son, it made more sense for him to step outside of the family shadow just a bit while continuing the family’s political legacy.

David’s popularity grew and we were the wonder couple. We could do no wrong. Well that at least was the picture Christopher painted of us. Money was no object since David comes from a well to do family that has been rich as long as the Rockefellers. My business was booming and I knew how to throw a party. The only problem with this fairytale life was that we did not love each other. We had excellent conversations, could work a party like it was child’s play, but intimacy and connectedness we failed at. One would think that with time that would change and we would grow comfortable with each other and actually become what we portrayed.

Was there another woman? Yes, I am almost positive of it. Why didn’t she fit the bill? I could never get Christopher to tell me. Was she ugly or already had kids or something? It seemed if you really want to go legit, get a true ghetto girl and show your guts. Well for the past three years I have been the one holding the tea parties and hosting events I can’t even remember the names of. I am not completely unhappy but I don’t face my days with joy like I used to.

I gently knock on the door and enter. David looks up from his laptop and nods at me. There is a slight glimmer to his eyes. When I first saw that look I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t realize what he was going to ask me to do. After that first time I thought maybe he and Christopher had some secret ‘thang’ going on. Part of me was disappointed that that was not the case. David liked porn and he most likely had a few sites open behind the document file he was working on. Many women would be appalled that their man was looking at that stuff. I was, at first. I am not conceited, even though I look good and know it. When a man looks at porn, it does something to a woman’s psyche when she is basically perfect but it is still not enough for her man whether there is love or not. We tend to start asking questions that open up more than Pandora’s Box could ever disclose. I didn’t ask, but dear Christopher let me know anyway. David was all man, for better or for worse, and if porn was his worse than I was a lucky woman. Indeed I agreed. I would meet women who not only hated their spouses but feared them in an unhealthy way. David would never lay a hand on me but he would become a person that would be so detached from me I would feel isolation on a level that would feel like a prison. My life was no longer my own. Everything we did, said, or engaged in was analyzed. Everywhere we went or the decisions we made was scrutinized.

I put my robe on the nearest chair and make my way toward the right side of the bed. David is reclined on the left side of the bed wearing his signature basketball shorts and Yale t-shirt. His brilliant mind has been writing another one of his signature speeches. If he hadn’t gone into politics he would have made an excellent preacher or motivational speaker. It wouldn’t shock me if he was a ghost writer for some bestselling author on the side even with everything else he does. There are days I wish we were in love and the missing puzzle pieces in our lives were put in place. Every R&B song about waiting for love and making sure it was right bounced around in my head.

Lay here, he orders me. I sit on the bed and take a look around the master bedroom. The room I should be staying in with my husband. His room could be a small house by itself with a sitting area and small nook where he keeps a desk for working. The conversation about why he didn’t continue on after earning a law degree toward something judicial especially with his talented mind would be the conversation we would never have. We would not discuss children, at least not yet, since his siblings were actively keeping the name Prinledge around for a while. We didn’t talk about my business either, though I knew the topic of me stepping back or selling it was coming. Like hell was I giving up my company.

Lick your fingers, suck them hard. When he said those words to me for the first time I had actually become aroused. I had believed it to be some new sex game. Little did I know he was getting ready to put me to work and he was going to get all the enjoyment.

I look at him as I first rub my breasts, tweaking the nipples through the material of my gown then raise my right hand to my mouth. I don’t speak, he doesn’t want me to. I once asked if he wanted to include his ‘friend’ in this. During my first year of marriage I was so starved for his affection I was willing to make out with his mistress and have a ménage a trois. He thought about it an entire day before he declined. That truly was a blow to my ego. Why in the world were we married? Then Christopher explained it to me fully and completely without mincing any words. All the things he had warned me about prior to ‘I do’ that I just didn’t want to hear, I now understood completely.

Lift your gown. Let me see you. I raised my gown to my hips as he instructed. I had stopped wearing panties after the first year. Only when we go out in public or I have to attend a function do I wear underwear. My 44 double Ds are usually free behind a tank top or off the shoulder shirt. He doesn’t usually pay too much attention to me up top. That is my main show piece when we are out. All eyes go to my cleavage before they go to my face. Male and female, the reaction is always the same. My small waist and medium sized hips seemed to make them seem like 48s. I once walked in on a conversation in the ladies bathroom over whether or not they were real. Thanks to my mom, they are one hundred percent au natural.

I lay on the bed with my gown bunched up around my waist. My legs are spread open with my feet touching each other. I feel the cool air on my vagina. Spread your lips for me. He continues to tell me what he wants me to do. I try to pretend he’s going to make love to me once he’d done telling me what he wants. It used to get me through but it got old very quickly. He doesn’t venture too far from what he has me do. I am thankful he does not require this of me as often as he used to. Twice a week if I am lucky. When he is stressed I may have to see him an additional two nights.

My breathing has become uneven. I know what will come next. I’m starting to get wet and it’s almost laughable how my body is going more by instinct than actual passion. I wait. Any minute now he’ll make me rub myself and thrust my fingers inside my core. I continue to wait. I know not to rush him or show any impatience. I had made that mistake once and had never repeated it again.

A loud grunt startles me and I keep my eyes closed trying to swallow down the nauseated feeling that I always get when he starts masturbating next to me. When I had stopped to watch him once he had become angered and ordered me out of the room. So much for my body being for him and his body being for me. I was still trying to hold on to some semblance of a marriage. Instead of repeating mistakes I was making new ones.

I froze as I felt hands on me. My wrists were bound and my nose picked up a different male scent. Oh my god someone else was in the room.

Rough hands moved down my arms, caressing, almost softly, down the sides of my body. I open my eyes and I am greeted by a dark ski mask barely concealing piercing blue eyes. I should scream. I should struggle. I should fight but I am paralyzed.

He thrusts inside of me and I am shocked. My earlier ministrations have made me quite easy for him to glide right inside. Oh god I’m being raped.

I lay still waiting for him to him to thrust in me again or move but nothing happens. He’s staring at me. Something in his eyes has me transfixed. He reaches up and unties my wrists. He is still inside me, not moving, as if he just woke up and found himself in the middle of something he didn’t mean to be. The fear I saw initially in his eyes has started to ease. I now see something else. Something gentle and protective. He’s contemplating my face, waiting for my reaction. He starts to withdrawal. Instinct causes me to wrap my legs around his waist preventing his escape. His eyes now register shock, narrowing at my behavior. He starts to reach for his mask as if to remove it. I stay his hand.

Not here, he says hoarsely.

My room, I whisper. He nods and my body instantly mourns his retreat from mine. I quickly glance at David. He chest is slowly moving up and down as if sleep. The pillow case over his head and bound hands to the bedpost almost sober me. Almost. I stare in wonder as my mystery man puts back various items around the room. Was he just a simple thief? I should be embarrassed to have been seen in such a vulnerable position.

Seconds later he is standing before me. I let logic flee me and I allow him to pick me up. We silently make our way to my bedroom. How he knows where it is doesn’t even enter my mind. I should be kicking and screaming. But my body is so desperate for human contact my heart rate increases with anticipation.

We enter my bedroom and I slip from his arms. I remove my gown and stand before him nude. He takes his gloves off and slowly approaches me. His eyes seem to sparkle but that could just be my imagination. He starts to lift his mask, again but I stay his hand. I let my hands move over his body. I feel muscles under his jacket. I touch his roughened hands and I place them on my breasts. He needs no further encouragement on what I want him to do.

I move my hands to the front of his pants. I unzip his pants and make myself at home. I release him and I start to tingle, remembering the feel of him inside of me. His eyes stare into mine. I can only imagine the thoughts going through his head. If I allow myself, the same questions would come out of my mouth. He came here to steal something, instead I am making him give.

I move us toward my bed. I sit down and waste no time putting him in my mouth. Salty, masculine, delicious. He groans and I swear the angels are singing. My body is singing. Everything is singing. Three years without any type of intimacy and I am as crazed as a diabetic in a candy store.

A gentle push on my shoulder and he plops out of my mouth. I lie back on the bed and spread my legs. The friction of his clothes against my body as he enters me makes a permanent impression. His thrusts start slow and steady. He is worshipping my body. I blink the tears away. I moan. I grunt. I want to scream his name. My name is Diane, I barely say through my erratic breathing.

Pat, he says between thrusts. I’m panting now. I begin to chant his name. For the first time ever I am glad my room is so isolated. No one will hear me. The start of the orgasm is so unfamiliar I almost miss it. I am gripping the sheets as I let the euphoria take me away. He pulls out of me and kisses his way down my body. His mouth and tongue bring me to another orgasm and my body is quivering from the new experience. He enters me again and I make sure to keep my eyes open and on him. I lament I can’t see all of his body. But time is passing, I must get my mystery man out of here and away from possible capture.

I move my hips with each thrust. Yes, yes, yes. I wrap my legs around his waist. Faster, harder, I fight the urge to close my eyes. I let the tears fall freely. We finish gloriously together. He collapses on me and I hug him to me. I think he’s crying. He had been affected by this experience as much as I have been.

You’ve got to get out of here. As much as I would like to hide him under my bed for all eternity I have to make sure he goes free. He nods and lifts his mask just enough to kiss me on the lips. I feel the tears well up in my eyes again. He withdraws and rights himself in his pants. He picks up my gown and hands me my robe. I didn’t even see him retrieve it from David’s room. He goes into my bathroom and I hear water running. He returns and wipes my body off, smoothly, leisurely. He helps me into my gown and robe and sits me on the side of the bed. He binds my wrists and attaches me to the bedpost. He touches my face gingerly and then leaves. I begin to cry.

Three hours later David will tear into my room and yell orders to search everywhere and cut me loose. He’ll hug me to him, briefly thanking god I am alright and that his worse fears did not come true. I truly sob then and as I will learn later, it was perfect for the media and the persona we wanted to portray. I am left to my own devices as he and Christopher hold a press conference and law enforcement from all branches begin to set up shop in the mansion.

Much later I finally relent and take a shower. I don’t want to lose his scent, our scent, but I must go back to smiling for the cameras and posturing for the public. I look longingly at my sheets, wanting to burrow into my bed and relive what Pat did to me. Later, in the wee hours before dawn I let my body re-experience what I have