2.24 The Abyss of WonderLand
I sipped at my iced tea and thought about that. Timothy was holding something back, acting secretive again. I stared at the mug for a moment, pondering that. “How long has Ben worked for you?” “I’ve only been here a short time, Penelope,” Timothy said “Evasiveness! I knew it. Tell me. Did he follow you from your last place of residence?” Timothy eyed me worriedly. “You’re going to gnaw on this, aren’t you? Are you going to marry me? Because that’s what it will take before I offer up any secrets concerning my employees, and that, only with their permission.” “So, if I went into the kitchen and asked Chef Stevens, would he answer me truthfully?” “Are you going to marry me?” Timothy asked again. “URGH,” I shouted, which brought the person we’d been discussing back into the room. “Is there a problem, young miss?” the chef asked, the lines of concern a definite pattern across his rather handsome face. I stood up, pushing my chair back in a very unladylike manner that my grandmother would have scolded me for. “Yes, I abhor secrets, and when people tell me half-truths, it irritates the heck out of me. How long have you worked for Timothy, Chef Stevens?” The man shot a glance at Timothy, who irritatingly shook his head with a single, very subdued gesture, but one I picked up on. I glared at the pooka. The chef sighed softly, then smiled. “I have worked for the man you call Timothy for only a few months,” he told me. His robin’s egg blue eyes displayed a hint of laughter. “The man I call Timothy?” I That means, you’ve used different aliases, right,” I asked, glowering down at the pooka I’d just spent such a lovely interlude with upstairs in his bedroom, the man I’d showered with, and kissed, and . . . I stamped my foot, something I’d only done as a rebellious teenager ONCE. My grandmother had quickly put an end to such rebelliousness. She’d been invaded with cancer. Funny how defiant teenager uprisings pale under serious issues.
2.23 The Abyss of WonderLand
“It will not cause you pain,” Timothy promised. “My saliva will deaden the injection site before I puncture your skin.” Even scarier. I shivered, and he tossed a blanket over my body, then held me for a while until my fears eased. Eventually, we showered (together) and preceded downstairs to eat a very late lunch. The cook had made a kind of Indian vegetarian stew. He told me what it was called, but all I cared about was that it was delicious, and I was famished. Apparently, lovemaking qualifies as exercise. We had Naan, also, which was a flatbread. I could have consumed an entire meal of it because it was scrumptious. Bread enthusiast, here. The stew was great for ladling into the Naan. The stew contained chickpeas, sweet potatoes, peas, cauliflower, spinach, and zucchini in a sauce made with turmeric, tomatoes. and coconut milk. The chef, Ben Stevens, also, had sprinkled cashew nuts over the top. Since I raved over our meal, he explained so much about the recipe that Timothy finally cleared his throat meaningfully, which Chef Ben immediately noted. “Why did you do that?” I fumed, after the poor guy scurried back to the kitchen. “I liked hearing about how Chef Ben fixed our lunch. Timothy fidgeted, which was so unlike him that I almost forgot my irritation. He sighed, then placed his hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he did so. “Sorry, Penelope. I guess you could say, one part jealousy, one part because he was wasting our togetherness time, and lastly, because I wanted to talk to you about our plans for the rest of the day. Do you want me to call Ben back to apologize?” I relented, shook my head, and babbled, “But why is everyone afraid of you? I mean, you clear your throat, and people practically cower and run off like whipped dogs, tails between their legs.” Timothy laughed. “No. It’s not like that, my love,” he said, shaking his head. “No one’s scared of me. Not in the way you mean. Nervous that I might terminate their employment, I suppose, although I would never do so for a non-reason. Especially not when the food is this excellent. “Of course, if I thought someone endangered you, or if you requested that I give them notice for some reason, then I would do it in an instant. But, rest assured, Ben is not afraid of me.”
2.22 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Perhaps, it is like a spider’s web that weaves us close. No, I see that image frightens you. I know, a pinball machine where the balls zing about, being flipped and slingshot from place to place.” He sat up and looked down at me. “I’m not explaining this well, am I?” I laughed, but I was feeling slightly sick. The sex had been great, and we were still lying on his bed, naked and slightly sweaty. My body felt tingly. My head had swelled as if I were high on a drug or from drinking alcohol — well, what I thought being high must feel like. I was still panting slightly, and my heart was pumping madly, like I’d run a marathon. But spider webs, pinging balls, and ricochets? Timothy picked up my hand, turned it over and kissed the soft parts. A thrill ran through me. Wasn’t my body saturated yet? How could I once more be full of desire? “Yes, it will be like that for a while, until the bond is complete,” Timothy said, smiling at me and nodding his head slightly. “You’re reading my mind again?” I gushed, hardly angry at the moment, since he was suddenly traveling up my arm, blowing hot puffs and kissing the suddenly sensitive pores of my arm. “Emotions,” he said, “Being eager for what we just experienced is an easy sentiment to read, like a neon sign,” he said, rubbing his hand along my upper arm, which shouldn’t have created the incredible vibrations of lust that were suddenly dancing up and down my spine. “Do you wish to talk or shall we engage in . . .” he asked, giving me that knockout smile of his. I cut him off. “Despite what neon signs you’re picking up, I think we should get up, dress, and do something with the day. I mean, something else.” His grin widened. His startling white teeth flashed. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, caressing my face, then bending down to kiss my neck. Okay, I was wrong. The next time we cleaved, it was every bit as good as the former times. Maybe even better. It was only after that, when my brain finally kicked into gear that I finally asked the questions I should have asked before we’d jiggled the bed so thrillingly. No, he had no diseases, couldn’t get diseases, and no, I couldn’t get pregnant with him, unless he gave me the bite which would make me completely his. That was a relieving discussion, although the bite thing was rather worrisome.
2.21 The Abyss
“Thank you,” I said. “You are beyond words. You are magnificent, and I have fallen under your spell, too. I didn’t want to. You still scare me. At least, the thought of . . .” “I know. The pooka bit. I’m a supernatural, which is something you’ve had no experience with, but you have nothing to fear from me. I would never harm you in anyway, and be assured, that I would lay down my life for you, if required. I hope there’s no need for that, since I’d like to stick around and enjoy what we just did a million times more.” I giggled. Me, who’d never made that sound before. Not ever. But Timothy was straight out of romance novels, fondling words like he’d fondled me. Did I like it? Incredibly so. “I enjoyed that, but a million times?” I giggled again, I think flirtatiously, which was something I’d never done before either. Only blondes flirted — blondes with hair down their backs, tiny waists, big boobs, and eyes that were capped by eye lashes that fluttered like butterfly wings. But as I was thinking that, it became obvious that Timothy wasn’t done romancing me. He continued, giving my body a warm squeeze, and then centered on my breasts. Oh, my. His thumb on my nipple was erotic as heck. I arched instinctively, which seemed the signal for Timothy to move to my other breast where he massaged and stroked me until I thought I’d die. “When two are entwined as we are . . .” Timothy began. I could barely concentrate on his words. I tried, but his fingers were playing havoc with every nerve in my body. “It is always like this,” he said, continuing in a voice that carried the soft croon of sexy. “I realize that in this time period you don’t believe in the fates, but the truth is that each pookah is fated to love one woman with a constancy and depth that assures absolute purity. If you think this time was passionate, and I am pleased to hear that from you lovely lips, but every time we engage, it will become even more so. Our lovemaking will become an echo inside us, a ricochet of emotion that rebounds and bounces back over and over until we are completely enclosed in magic.
2.20 The Abyss of WonderLand
I hoped that Timothy was cordial to Chris, but I was mute, fragile in my lust. Timothy later said that we were signed up for a package of dance lessons. I had no recall of that. I was already dancing on a high plane somewhere, perhaps in the clouds, on a mountain peak, in the middle of the ocean. As silly as that sounded, that was how it felt. I barely said goodbye to Chris when he let himself out. “Do you wish to go upstairs to my room?” Timothy asked. I was coherent enough to nod. “Will we cleave together?” I’d never heard it called that, but it sounded exactly like what I wanted. I nodded again. And then, just as I’d envisioned, Timothy swooped me into his arms and carried me up the stairs. Was it romantic? I really couldn’t say. How do you define romantic when we tore off each other’s clothes and were kissing, stroking, and carrying on as if passion had overridden all common sense. It was ardent but giving, and exactly how such an occasion should unfold. But cleave, we did. Several times, with smiles, sweet words, promises, and even a bit of laughter. I guess I might have worried that a pookah might change when he became sexually excited. Timothy did not. His kisses continued fiery and enthusiastic. His efforts to lead me into glorious flights were successful, and the way he worshipped my body was something that boosted my self-confidence and made me feel even more special than before. In one word, our joining together was perfection. I told him that, of course. “Did you have any doubt?” Timothy asked, smiling. “I loved you from the first moment our eyes met. I might have been brunt and off-putting; at least, that’s what you said, but that was only because I was in a daze. You cast your spell, and I was lost.” For saying that, Timothy got another deep kiss, and I stroked his chest, a marvelous David statue of a chest, except warm, vibrant . . . and real.
2.19 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Good. Now move, Mr. Caldwell. Don’t worry about the steps or any dance procedure, just allow the music to carry you forward. Miss Casey, you are to imagine that this man has enchanted you, changing you into a floating leaf that flutters in the wind. Feel the movement of his body and flow with it.” And suddenly, Timothy and I were dancing. My feet kept politely on the floor, or at least, following his movements, not mashing or kicking as they’d always done before. We pirouetted, backed, and turned. I could feel Timothy’s body’s and moved with it, almost as if I were that leaf Chris had spoken of, and I was swaying in the wind. The musical piece ended and neither of us broke a part. The magic had sealed us together. A frozen embrace, perhaps. Chris applauded. “Oh, you two are unique, so natural, so unified in movement. It will be a pleasure to guide you through the more formalized dances, if that is what your wish.” Timothy ignored the dance instructor and seared my lips with his. As kisses go, it was soul deep and the most wonderful moment I’d ever known. I forgot about the presence of Chris, standing no more than a couple of yards’ distance away. I forgot about my doubts and about all my indecision. I wanted Timothy carnally, in a way I’d never wanted any guy before. If Timothy had lifted me up in his arms and carried me up to his room, I would not have protested. My body had sent out roots, anchoring me to this wonderful man. Timothy was right; we were meant to be together. When Timothy’s lips lifted, I whimpered. I wasn’t sure I could take such a severing. I might die from the agony, from the piercing of my heart. “Sh, my darling. It’s okay. I won’t let you go. I promise I will hold you forever.” That kind of statement should have sent chills through me. I should have retreated back to safety, but it was exactly what I wanted to hear. I felt at peace.
2.18 The Abyss of WonderLand
There,” Chris said, suddenly stopping, although the music had not. “Was that painful?” I glanced over at Timothy. A moment before we’d discussed my oatmeal churning indecision, but I saw that the porridge mess had clearly jumped to his face. Shades of jealousy, a touch of indignation, crossness, and stern self-control; his face was drawn so tight, he looked like he’d just had Botox injections. Chris was still holding my hand. He walked me over to Timothy and handed me over to Timothy, like he was a father passing a bride to her new husband. Timothy didn’t object. He swung me up against me and nuzzled his lips on my neck. “That was agony,” he said. “Sometimes my old-world mores fail to adapt to modern times. I did not like seeing you in the arms of another.” “It was just a lesson. Or maybe, an advertisement?” We were holding each other, once more lost in our own world. The stranger, Chris, cleared his voice again. “Now, if you are ready,” he said. “I will begin my instruction with both of you.” Chris turned to adjust his music system, then added, “Do you know how to position your lady, Mr. Caldwell?” Our dance posture was the same configuration that I’d been in with Chris, but Timothy’s touch seemed completely different. I felt fused with Timothy, like we were somehow a unit. The way he was holding me felt like a caress that seemed not only right, but natural. “Excellent. We have chemistry. That will make this lesson as easy as breathing,” Chris crooned. I didn’t know about that. With his words, I stiffened. “You are my soul, darling,” Timothy said. “Relax. I would no sooner hurt you than plunge a knife into my thigh.” The gentle softness of Timothy’s words did allow me to relax. I was suddenly aware of the trust I felt for him. His words were a promise, an affirmation, and my body corresponded, giving into his touch.
2.17 The Abyss of WonderLand
We broke apart and looked to see who’d invaded our romantic scene. A stranger stood there in the house’s exit out to the swim area. He wasn’t the golfer who’d disrespected our privacy, but someone new. Timothy Surely, the fates laugh at me. I was almost forgiven, almost back in her good graces, and then the interruption. Who is this man? How dare he enter my house, frighten my darling one, and destroy a moment so precious it perhaps will never come again? But she is softening to me again? Isn’t she? Chapter Eleven Penelope “Sorry to intrude,” the man said. “My name is Chris Shafer. I’m here because you called about a dance lesson?” “You didn’t,” I said, pushing away from Timothy with a dramatic rolling of the eyes. “As you recall, you said that you didn’t want any public lessons. This is private, and if you don’t like the lesson, we won’t sign up for anymore.” Chris, a nice-looking black guy probably about my age, made a face over Timothy’s words. “That isn’t going to convince her. Why don’t you let me try.” This very athletic but lithe man had brought his own sound system. He turned it on, then walked over to me, and said, “Will you dance a moment with me?” I glanced at Timothy. I don’t know why. Was I seeking permission? But then my mouth opened, and I said, “I’m a foot stamper and a klutz. You wouldn’t want to dance with me, even for a moment.” As if he hadn’t heard me, he reached out to take my hand, unfurled me like a cowboy gathering up his thrown rope, then somehow positioned me, and before I’d had a chance to squeak, we were whirling about in some kind of dance step while he counted, one, two, three, one, two, three. He hadn’t given me a single word of instruction, yet his body rhythm was throwing me into the movement. No fancy footwork on my part, but I did manage to leave his feet untrampled. It was a miracle.
2.16 The Abyss of WonderLand
I stood up and walked over to the pool. I dipped my foot in, wondering if I should suggest a swim, but we’d just eaten, and besides, wasn’t that just another excuse on my part for avoiding making a decision. Did I love Timothy? It all rested on that. Did I love Timothy enough to deal with all the ramifications of being with a pooka? “No decision is necessary now, Penelope,” Timothy said. Let’s just see how the week goes. Then after you return to your apartment — if you decide that’s what you want to do — you will have a long time before you need to make a permanent commitment. We can just continue to date – if you’ll allow me to take you out. You do trust me that much, right?” I turned to face him. “Yes. I would like that, Timothy, because I think I’m falling in love with you, and inside I feel like I’m an oatmeal porridge of indecision. Does that make sense?” “I think I’d be in trouble if I laughed, but your description is a little over the top, wouldn’t you say?” He jumped up from his position and strode towards me with all the force of an el torro bull seeing red. I stood my ground, and when he embraced me with arms that made me want to surrender myself to everything he offered, for a moment I relented and allowed the comfort. Our lips melded, but it was only for a brief respite. “You are falling in love with me? Now I understand completely. I’ve turned into porridge, too, all warm and gooey with delight. I am yours my darling. How ever much you are willing to offer, even if it’s just tiny tastes of happiness, I’ll accept them.” Another kiss was needed to seal that tender offering, and perhaps it would have traveled further, but a man’s voice suddenly coughed and cleared his throat.
2.15 The Abyss of WonderLand
I felt like I’d just read a history book. Timothy’s story was unbelievable. “Did you meet Shakespeare?” “No. I knew of him, but, as I said, we were disgusted by London: sewers in the streets, vermin everywhere, and rampant disease. We spent little time there, and our sporadic visits were only at the request of Queen Elizabeth.” “So, you knew Sir Frances Bacon and Charles Darwin?” “Bacon, I knew of. Darwin came much later. We were already in the Americas by then. We weren’t readers, Penelope. It was centuries before we took the time to develop a library. Books weren’t common for a lot of our early days.” “Of course. Did you get to know Benjamin Franklin?” “No, sorry. We tried to keep away from the glare of publicity. There were early newsprints, and we often read those, but it was only in the missions in California where you could find many printed books. Andrew and I started collecting them. Of course, we had to leave most of them behind each time we moved.” “So, you never met Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, Hamilton, or Lincoln?” “I think we missed out on all the famous men in your history books. Remember we avoided groups and crowds where we might be recognized. It was always important to move before the mobs attacked.” “I get it.,” said nodding, because it did make sense. “And now? How long will you be able to stay in San Jose?” He reached out to take my hand and bent his head to kiss my palm. “That is the big problem, my darling. Twenty, twenty-five years. Will you be willing to accept that kind of life? Will you join me in my travels?” “I would like to see Paris and London. Vienna and . . .” “We can do that. You can choose our next residence.” “And how would Andrew feel about that? About me making it a party of three?” “Probably jealous. He’d like to find someone who was willing to join him in his life. He would not be sorry if you accompanied us, though. He likes you.”