Thirty - Jill Emerson [25]
“What will we do?”
“Everything.”
“Will it always hurt?”
He laughed, then broke it off. “No, of course not. Nothing is without purpose. I had to reach you today, in new ways.”
“You reached me.”
“You will learn new things about your body, Jan. About yourself. It won’t usually hurt.”
I nodded.
“But what if it would?”
I considered. “I would still do what you want me to do.”
“Why?”
“Because I . . . have to.”
“That’s right, Jan. You may go now.”
He has not called today. It is after three now and he has not called, which presumably means that he does not want me today. And I do not even know if I am glad or sorry.
I do not understand any of this. I cannot understand it. Things are happening to me that I do not understand. Who is he? What is he? What does he do for a living? What does he want from me? Obviously he has done this sort of thing with other girls in the past. My God, the man is Superfuck himself, he could get any girl he wanted any time he wanted and have her crawling through hoops in an instant. It’s not just me, it can’t be. But who the hell is he?
And what does he do with his women when he’s done with them?
What do I do, for example, if someone like Arnold calls? What do I tell him? Does Eric want me to see other people? To have sex with other people? I don’t know. But I do know that I will probably do whatever he wants me to do.
What is it about him?
I could leave. Right now, turn my back on this, go. I would not even need to pack. There is nothing here that I have that is so important.
I could go back. To the house, to the car, to the husband. I could do this. He might take me back, he might not, it doesn’t matter, the house and friends always belong to the wife. I could go back, and he could live with me or not, his choice, or even my choice if I wanted it to be that way. But either way I could be out of this apartment, neighborhood, life, away from Eric.
If I want.
Or could I?
I’ve known for some time that it is a sex thing that drives me. That I am compulsive, that this is some kind of compulsive behavior pattern I am going through. I have ideas as to why this is happening and where it is going, a batch of ideas, some in conflict, and I have put some of them down here and there in this book, and I have had others that I have not put down.
But I did not expect this. This person. I am afraid of him. He is too strong. If I belong so utterly to him, how can I belong to myself? How can I have any of me left?
March 27
He called me and I went there. We had sex, did different things. I am not going to write about it, describing it. I don’t feel the need tonight.
Afterward we sat on the large white couch facing the fireplace. There was a coal fire banked in a grate. We ate cheese and drank plum wine.
A day before I had seen him on the street with the blond girl. They did not see me.
I asked about her.
“Susan? Yes, you’ve seen me with her. What about her?”
“I used to wonder if she were your daughter.”
“And do you wonder still?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Yes.”
“Of course I suppose she is your mistress.”
He smiled at something. “You might say she is my psychic daughter. Not my biological daughter, more’s the pity.”
“Why?”
“One ought to be able to make love to one’s daughters, one’s sisters, one’s mother. But I have no family.”
“No one at all?”
“I’m totally unrelated. Did you ever have sex with a relative, Jan?”
“Only if you count my husband.”
“I don’t think we should count your husband.”
“Then the answer’s no. I’ve told you about everything I’ve ever done.”
“But you’ve done so little.”
“I know.”
“You never sucked off a loving older brother? Or fingered a sister?”
“I was an only child, really, Eric—”
“Or warmed your father’s bed? Never fucked your father, dear?”
“He’s dead. I would really like it a whole lot if we talked of other things.”
“Sometimes those things which make you uncomfortable do you the most good.”
“Even so.”
“Yes.” He lit a cigarette, smoked in deep thoughtful drags. “You’ll have to meet Susan sooner or later,” he said at length. “You’ll enjoy her.”
“Who