Dangerous Encounters
After Genie, Michael's spirit fragmented. Not into depression, not completely. His suspicions about the house had been confirmed, at least to his way of thinking. Not that would satisfy a scientist or judge, perhaps, but Michael knew that it was manipulating his will. Neither he, newly in love, nor, he suspected, a minister's wife would have rutted as Genie and he had. Not under normal circumstances. Not on their first meeting, anyway . . . Something in the house encouraged lust and demanded sexual gratification. It may make no sense, but it was true.
But that didn't make him feel less guilty about breaking faith with Angel.
And what did it mean to his relationship with Angel? He knew - he believed he knew - that he loved her, but what about her response to him? Had she made love to him only as a result of the same coercion?
If Angel would visit again - and she had seemed to want to - he knew that they would soon be sharing intimate pleasure, but it wouldn't be the same. Because he would know that he had been unfaithful, and he would not know that it was what she really wanted. Nor how long it would last.
In the end, though it tore at his heart, he postponed his next meeting with Angel, and kept finding excuses to postpone it further, until they simply stopped contacting one another.
At the same time, the damage having been done, he tested his theory. As often as he could either find or create the opportunity.
He ordered a pizza from a local delivery company, after seeing the pretty delivery girl. She stepped inside while he collected the money to cover his bill and tip. She took the money uneasily, and turned to leave. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder; she immediately turned back to him, and they kissed hungrily.
She had the presence of mind to call her boss, pleading car trouble, while they were still undressing each other.
After broadening his political consciousness with a young campaign worker, he found he couldn't recall what party or candidate she supported. But he remembered vividly how their overnight negotiations had reached many satisfactory conclusions.
Then there was the time which Michael knew would haunt his fantasies and nightmares for years to come, when a young Girl Scout waited patiently in front of the TV while Michael gave her mother a tour of the house. And while they gave each other a much more intimate tour.
He bought plenty of cookies.
These highs alternating with melancholy, when he grieved for having destroyed his relationship with Angel, were almost the poles of a manic-depressive. He had been an emotionally stable individual before Angel. Now he felt his sanity beginning to collapse. But he didn't realize how untenable was his position until almost too late.
He had hired a local contractor to repair some of the old wooden siding. Most of the interior work Michael was doing himself, but the few problems with weathered wood on the outside were high up on the second and third floors, and in the wooden shingles on the turret. Michael wasn't willing to work at the wrong end of a long ladder, so that part was being handled by Alan and Andy Leffler, general contractors, who were doing an excellent job.
The Lefflers had been working for three days. On the fourth, when they arrived, Michael went outside to see if they needed any help. A girl was helping Andy set up a ladder. Andy introduced her.
"Mike, this is my daughter, Sarah. I hope you don't mind me bringing her."
Michael shrugged and smiled. "No problem with me. Will she be working with you?"
"No, she just came to look around. I told her what a great place this is, she wasn't doing anything today, so I brought her over."
Michael looked her over briefly. She seemed about eighteen. She wore a long jacket; the weather would turn hot later, but the early morning was slightly chill. Short dark hair, thin frame like her father. He shook her hand and headed back into the house.
He worked inside for a couple of hours. The day warmed but the air conditioner kept up. He was planing a closet door when he heard a noise, which made him jump, scraping his thumb.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said a girl's voice behind him. He looked up at Sarah Leffler, who was watching him.
"That's okay," said Michael. "I didn't know anyone was inside."
"I came to get some water. It's hot out there."
She had taken off her jacket. Her jeans were tight around her pencil-thin waist. Her navy tee shirt was short, leaving several inches of midriff showing. Large nipples distorted the thin, tight fabric. "Let me see your hand," she ordered as he stood.
She took his left hand, which he had grazed with the plane, holding it close to her face - but much closer to her breast, in fact his fingers grazed the tee shirt. "Doesn't look too bad," she said. "Slightly scraped."
Then she drew his hand to her mouth, and, watching him, ran her tongue along his thumb. She pulled it between her lips, licking it slowly as she sucked.
Michael was entranced, desire pounding at his chest and straining at his jeans. Still holding his gaze, she took his right hand, placing it on the bare flesh at her waist. Then she pulled his thumb from her mouth, moving his left hand also to her waist, but deliberately pressing it against her breast on the way. She hooked her arms behind his head, pulling his face to hers.
Her kiss was a gasoline on his inflamed senses. He kneaded her waist as their tongues meshed, then moved his hands up her sides to her firm breasts. She sighed as he cupped her breasts, thumbs pressing against her swelling nipples, squeezing.
He lifted her tee shirt, dropping his face to her breasts, and sucking her nipples. He lowered his hands to squeeze her ass. . . .
There was a thumping just behind them, as one of the Lefflers fastened a piece of siding. Michael jumped. Releasing Sarah, he became aware of the stupidity of their situation. He pulled her tee shirt down. "We can't do this," he whispered.
"Yes we can," she said, "or I'll scream and tell them you raped me."
"You might do that anyway," replied Michael. "I'll take my chance. Listen, this isn't what you want. Believe me, as soon as you leave the house you'll feel different."
"Bullshit," she said.
"No, trust me. It's true." Then a new thought struck him. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Seventeen," she said. "Almost."
"Oh God." Michael closed his eyes. He was cold with fear. "Listen, please. Just go outside for a moment. Take a few deep breaths."
Sarah's lips tightened in a scowl, but she turned away, adjusting her clothing. He followed her to the back door, watching her leave the house. From a window, he saw her puzzled look as she turned back to look at the house.
He waited a few minutes for his shivering to subside, then walked outside, calling to the Lefflers as if nothing had happened. "How's it going?"
"Fine, Mike, it's looking real good."
As he stepped back, Sarah walked quietly up beside him.
"How did you know?" she asked, quietly. She sounded shaken.
He shook his head. "It's the house," he said, as if that were an explanation.
Sarah looked at the building through half-closed eyes. Then a wicked grin lit her face, though she kept her voice low. "Perhaps you'll let me bring my boyfriend here sometime."
Michael shook his head, and walked away.
When the Lefflers were through with the day's work, Sarah found him again. "Thanks, again Mike," she said. "I guess. I won't be back, I'd want to come back in and try again. You'll never know what you missed."
She slowly ran her tongue over her top lip before giggling, then turned and ran to her father.
Back in the house, Michael grabbed a glass and a full bottle of scotch, and set about trying to forget the day's events.