Pretty Baby Ch. 06

The culmination of Alyssa's journey.

Part Six: The Price of Passion

Gary was dead, and I had met the man who had killed him. Trying to return to a normal life after that, I felt, was nearly impossible.

I withdrew from the semester, and even though it was too late to get any tuition back, I didn't care. I could easily pay my father back, although he would wonder where the money came from. I went back home for a while, staying with my folks through the holidays. My brother Roger made a surprise visit, with his fiancé Carla in tow, right on Thanksgiving day. I was happy at my brother's return home; I hadn't seen him since I was sixteen.

My parents, more specifically, my mother, could tell that something had happened, but I didn't tell her what. By that point, my wounds had healed, at least the physical ones. Still, knowing that I needed support, my mother gave me all I could ever want. And my father, despite his stoicism, was still my father. He would always be my rock.

For those two months, it was as if my life away from home had never happened. I managed to forget about that day in the mall, more than a year before, and the snowballing of events that had happened after. I forgot about Gary, and Ian, and about all the men.

At least, I did for a little while.

"Honey?"

I turned toward the door from the house as I stood on the rear patio. My mother, dressed in her favorite holiday sweater, emerged with two cups of hot cocoa. I smiled. It was Christmas Day. We had spent the morning opening presents and watching old home movies. The evening before, we had all gone caroling in the neighborhood.

Yet as much as I had enjoyed the trip through the nostalgia of my youth, and the comfortable, warm feel of being back home where I was unconditionally loved, I was conscious of the fact that I had changed. I didn't belong to this life anymore.

"Hi, Mom."

She gave me an affectionate smile. "I'm worried about you, baby," she said.

I smiled, took the offered cup of cocoa. "I'm okay," I said.

She stepped up beside me in the chilly air. "You know, it's not like you to keep things to yourself, Alyssa," she said. "Haven't we always talked?"

"I'm not—" I began, then stopped. Mom was right. Hell, she always was, right? "I met a guy, and . . . it was nice, and fun, and . . . perfect . . . for a while."

My mother smiled, massaged my shoulder. "Ah, first love," she said wistfully.

I managed a smile. "Something like that."

"I take it he's not around anymore?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, he's not around anymore," I said.

My mother kissed my cheek. "Don't fret, honey," she said. "My first love didn't last, either. No one's does. It's just the way it goes."

I sniffed. "I miss him."

Mom put her cup down and came around behind me, hugging me tight. "I know you do, honey," she said soothingly. "And you'll never forget him, and never stop loving him. And you never should."

I trembled a bit, crying a little more, shedding the last tears I ever would for Gary.

"He's your first love, baby," Mom continued, and kissed my cheek. "No matter what, he'll always be with you in your heart."

I breathed out. "God, I hope so."

***

Ian was surprised to hear from me again. I figured he assumed I was never coming back. I had broken the lease on my apartment and put everything in storage, after all, and dropped out of college for the semester. Understandably, he was momentarily speechless when I called him out of the blue on a cold January morning and told him I wanted to see him.

We met in a little casual dining restaurant. I got there first and asked for the most secluded booth they had. I ordered an iced tea and waited.

He showed up in jeans and a blazer, a white turtleneck beneath the jacket. I couldn't help but smile as he approached the table. Ian didn't look a damn bit different, even though it felt to me that it had been years since I last saw him.

"Hi, Ian."

He slid into the booth, and just looked at me. He wasn't quite sure what to think or expect, I guessed.

"Surprised to see me again, huh," I said, furtively looking from his hands to his dark eyes.

"That's an understatement," he said.

I took a deep breath. This is harder than I thought it would be. "I wanna come back."

His expression didn't waver. "No."

I met his gaze. "I want to come back," I said, more firmly.

He looked down, interrupted as the waitress came over and asked what he would like to drink. Ian curtly asked for an iced tea. He spoke to me again after she headed away. "Why?"

"Because I'm good at it," I said. "Because I like it."

Ian sighed. "I don't think that would be the best thing for you."

"And what do you know about what's best for me?" I asked.

My statement was not biting, nor accusatory. Ian lifted his head. "You've been through a lot."

I nodded. "We both have," I said.

He leaned back in his chair. "But why come back?" he asked. "Why . . . why be an escort again? Is it about the money? If you need money, Alyssa, I'll cut you a check right now."

I shook my head. "It's not about the money," I said, then smiled with self-admonishment. "Not entirely, anyway. It's about me. Just me."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "I don't understand you," he said. "I used to think I did, a long time ago. When you were wide-eyed and eager. But . . . I don't think I ever did."

I smiled. "Don't try to understand me, Ian. I'm a woman."

He laughed sharply, lowering his head for a moment. "Got me there."

The waitress returned with his drink. I told her we needed some more time with the menu. Ian looked back up once we were alone again.

"Tell me this is only what I think it is," he said.

I recognized those words, the same ones I had said to him so long ago. "And what do you think it is?" I asked.

His eyes held mine. "That this is just a beautiful young woman who wants to return to what she loves," he said. "And not some attempt to get back at me for a mistake."

I took in his face, his expressions, the slight and subtle play of his emotions. He was afraid of me, I realized. Afraid of what I knew, and that I could ruin him because of it.

"We all make mistakes, Ian," I said. "I don't want to dwell on them anymore. I just want to go back to being alive."

He stared for a long moment, trying to decide if I was being serious or just bullshitting him. I gave him time, letting him look, letting him read me. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"All right."

***

The rest of our lunch was thankfully less tense, although there were moments in which either Ian or I fell silent, not knowing what to say. He told me that Erin had just turned twenty. She and her fiancé Ross had gone to Spain for a week to celebrate. I gave him an abbreviated account of the holidays at home, and we shared a few anecdotes about the season.

I didn't understand why, at the time, but being with Ian, talking about family and friends and hearth and home . . . it was strangely arousing. Or perhaps it was the fact that I was with him again, after being away for so long, and hearing his voice, reading his gorgeous dark eyes . . . .

He followed me to my hotel room. We rode the elevator in silence, neither one of us wanting to take the chance at ruining the moment by speaking. Once through the door, I headed past the bed, dropping my jacket to the floor and pulling my shirt over my head. I unzipped and pushed down my jeans, stepped out of my panties. Naked except for my jewelry, I stood before the uncurtained balcony door, tracing my fingers along the line of frost on the other side.

I sighed when Ian's hands slid up my sides, from my slender hips, along my tapered waist, to my breasts. His strong hands cupped my breasts, squeezing gently. I leaned back against him, feeling his nakedness. I placed my hands over his and urged him on. His touch was incredible.

He kissed and gently sucked at the base of my neck, his fingers playing across my nipples. My puffy areolas swelled and grew darker. I felt his stiff penis gently prodding between my cheeks. I was unbearably aroused. I reached back between us, feeling the stiffness of him, the slick fluid that oozed from within. Ian shuddered slightly against me as my expert fingers tickled and massaged him. My instincts had not faded.

Ian pushed me against the glass door and kissed his way down my back. I was sighing and moaning softly, anticipating the feel, the love of him. I arched my back and panted hotly on the window when his tongue slipped between my cheeks, tasting me, licking up and down slick lips that had not been touched in ages. I arched my back and pushed back, giving him better access.

My orgasm did not take long. In over two months, I had not even masturbated. The ache for release that I felt was undeniable. And with Ian's caressing tongue, his probing fingers, his warm breath and soft sighs between my legs . . . .

I shook and moaned when I came, reaching back to grip his head and keep his mouth where I wanted it, where I needed it. Ian kept sucking me, lightly scratching his fingertips up and down my thighs. I panted with each subsequent orgasm, until the window before me was all but completely obscured from my hot breath.

Consumed with raw desire, I shoved Ian back onto the floor and turned around. He stared up at me, his face impassioned and slick from my juices. I straddled him quickly, sucking his lips with my own, tasting my own tangy cum as I reached down and guided his stiff cock inside me.

We both groaned at the reunion, the sexual marriage of cock and cunt. He kneaded and massaged my breasts as I bounced up and down on him, shoving his magnificent dick as deep as it would go. He watched me with eyes that were both amazed and grateful, staring into my soul as I gave him every ounce of my passion, my lust . . . my love.

"Oh, Alyssa!" he cried.

"Oh, Ian! Ian!"

I I toppled over backward, slapping my hands to the floor and thrusting my breasts to the ceiling as I rode him hard, my body quaking in orgasm. I squeezed his length inside me, urging him to cum, wanting to feel it inside me . . . .

Ian gasped aloud when he erupted, arching his back deeply and feeding my womb. I felt every thick, hot, intense jet of his semen, and squeezed and fucked him harder to milk his cock of every precious drop. His orgasm inspired my own, and I screeched my way through it. Ian winced, holding out as long as he could, wanting to give me the sensations I so desperately craved.

I finally stopped moving, panting, catching my breath as Ian did the same. I felt refueled, my libido screaming for more. Slipping off him, his wet cock slapping to his abdomen, I doubled over and slid down, sucking him deep into my mouth, all the way to the root. I moaned at tasting him, sucking the residue of his orgasm, tasting our mingled fluid around his cock. Ian grunted, almost in pain, gripping my head in his hands.

I felt his thick cum dripping out from inside me, to the floor below. I reached down and smeared my fingers in the stuff, then wiped it along his shaft as I sucked up and down. Ian remained hard, either inspired or intimidated by my sexuality, I wasn't sure which. It really didn't matter.

"Jesus, Alyssa," he panted, recovering, shaking slightly from aftershocks as I massaged the head of his cock with my lips.

"Mmm," I moaned, and took my mouth off him, stroking his shaft with my slick hand. "I love you, Ian," I whispered.

He made a choking sound then, one that sounded like capitulation. And for the first time, I saw a tear drip from his eye.

***

We made love all night and all the following day, taking breaks only to answer the knock from room service, and to smoke, drink, and sleep. We did not really talk all that much; there was really no need to. Aside from all the little details of our lives, we had said all there was to say. Ian and I somehow understood each other on a deeper level than most.

Late that second night, I lay in bed, unashamedly nude, curled up on my side as I watched Ian get dressed. He didn't want to leave, that much I could tell; but if he stayed, it meant giving in even more to me than he already had. And he had already given me too much.

I didn't need to hear his words to the effect to know that he loved me. Yet, even with that realization, and my own proclamations, I knew that I would never have Ian the way I wanted. I would never be his wife, would never bear his children. And as before, I was content with that. It just seemed right that our love existed the way it did.

He did not say anything as he left. He just smiled, with a look of complete adoration on his handsome face, and I smiled back. I didn't cry when the door closed.

***

Unlike Ian, Cleo was not as surprised to hear from me again, although that was probably because he had told her I was back before I called. Still, she evidenced some concern.

"Are you sure you want to come back?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said. "I'm positive. I'm ready, Cleo."

She sighed into the phone. "All right, well . . . when do you want to start?"

"Give me a week," I said. "I need to get settled in."

I had come back just a few days before the start of the spring semester. I managed to sign up for all the classes I had dropped out of, and needed the time to buy books and supplies, and find a new apartment. The place I chose was a slightly over-priced one bedroom apartment not far from campus. I hired some movers to transfer my furniture and boxes from storage to the new place.

I only signed a six-month lease. Something told me I would not be around for longer than that.

I started taking dates as soon as I was comfortable with my classes and my new apartment. That first night, clad in a tight green dress and glittering with jewelry, I answered the door to see a thankfully familiar face.

"Miss Yvette?"

I smiled. "Hi, James."

He smiled back, eyes drifting over me. "You look beautiful," he said, then smiled again. "But then, that's a given."

I reached up and touched his face. He didn't flinch. "You're so sweet," I said.

He gently took my hand away, reminding me of our places. His eyes were strong and serious when he asked, "Are you sure you're ready?"

I nodded without hesitation. "I'm ready. Especially now."

James pursed his lips for a moment. If he was capable, I swear he would have blushed. He held up a new, tiny black phone. "Hang on to this."

I took it, dropped it into my purse. "I will," I said, then smiled once more. "Show the way, James."

***

My date that evening was a funny little man named Milton Godfrey. From the moment we met in his hotel room, he made me laugh. He was a round-bodied little man who had shaved off what little hair he had left on his head and spoke with inordinate self-confidence and verve. He had a quick wit and a sense of humor that switched back and forth from crude bathroom jokes to high-brow, Monty Python-esque complexity.

I was not surprised when Milton took me to see a famous comedian on tour following dinner. Milton seemed to regard comedy as a high art. He was so endearing and raucous that I could not help but want to hang off him, just to share his zeal for life.

The comedian we saw was popularly known for his cheesy one-liners on a popular amateur video show, and I was not prepared for his decidedly raw and adult humor. At one point, since Milton and I sat so close to the stage, he made comments about the difference in our ages, and my appearance, and remarked that he wished he was a 'fat old man with money.'

"Let me know if you wanna see what a real funny dick tastes like, honey!" he said into the microphone as he ogled me from the stage.

I was blushing deeply and convulsing in laughter at that point, and barely managed to blurt out, "I will!"

The comedian looked to Milton and said, "Sir, I salute you. And if I read about you in the obituaries tomorrow, I won't be surprised."

Milton was a good sport. "Neither will I!" he yelled.

By the time we got back to his limo, all the sexual innuendo had taken it's toll. Once the door was closed, I rolled over and straddled Milton's lap, giving him a hungry look.

"Can I tickle your funny bone, now?" I said in my most sultry, slutty way, as I began unzipping his slacks.

He stared at me with lust in his eyes as I scooted down his body and fished out his stiff, sleek cock, rubbing it all around my cheeks and mouth. "No more jokes, then?" he asked.

I licked up and down his rigid pole and kissed the underside of the slippery head, tasting his sticky cream. "You can, if you want. Just no dumb blonde jokes."

Milton chuckled. "Well, there goes my repertoire . . . mmm . . . ."

***

It was late February when I saw her again. I had been reluctant to call Julie since my return, not sure of what to say. We had talked a few times over the phone during my 'sabbatical,' and the subject of my coming back had never really been addressed. And since I had returned to the vocation that Julie obviously had problems with, I was even more reluctant to let her know I was back.

But that afternoon, as I sat at one of the outdoor stone benches in the Quad, fate seemed to have decided for us.

I saw her walking amongst a group of girls, chatting with Lindsey, and watched them walk past me. Julie suddenly stopped, glanced back my way. Her lips parted and her eyes widened.

"Alyssa?"

I managed a smile. "Hi, Julie."

She grinned then, a happy, 'I can't believe it's you!' splitting of her face, and ran up to greet me. I just managed to stand in time to meet her charge. We hugged, and kissed, and hugged some more. I squeezed her tight, never more aware than I was at that moment of how much I had missed her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, pulling back with a hurt look. "Damn it, Alyssa! I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

I smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I-I wanted to call you, I just . . . ."

Julie gave me a big smile. "Hey, it doesn't matter. I know it's been rough on you. If I can't understand that, what kind of friend am I?"

I was touched by her apparently total acceptance. "Thanks, Julie," I said. "That means a lot to me."

She bit her lip and grabbed my hand. "Hey, come on. We're all gonna go get fat on ice cream sundaes and see a chick-flick."

I squirmed a little, glanced to the other girls, watching us with interest. I noticed the sympathetic smile Lindsey gave me, and remembered what Julie had told me about her.

"Come on," urged Julie, pulling on my hands. "You can't possibly have anything better to do!"

I laughed. "You know what? You're absolutely right."

***

It was the morning of April 7^th. I could never forget that day no matter how much I wanted to. I awoke around ten, felling pleasantly tired after my latest date. He had been a very robust man, strong, stocky, and obviously lacking for female attention. He was pretty straight-laced and didn't speak much throughout the evening, but once he got me back to his hotel room . . . .

Oh. My. God. The man had stamina like you wouldn't believe, coupled with an impressive cock to surpass Ian's. He had wanted to 'go around the world' as he put it, and I realized just what he meant when he took me every way I had ever conceived, including a couple of positions I had never heard of. His favorite position was what he called 'Froggy,' in which we both squatted on the bed while he shoved his fat cock inside me from behind.

I don't think I ever came as much in one night as I did with that man. I literally stumbled to the Lincoln the following morning, prompting James to ask me if everything was all right.

"Everything's fine," I sighed, lighting a cigarette as I collapsed in the back of the car. "Just take me home."

I was glad that I didn't have a date lined up for the evening. It was a Sunday, and I anticipated doing nothing more than watching TV and call up Julie for a late lunch. I soaked in the tub for a while, washed my hair, slipped on a silk robe once I got out. I couldn't stop smiling as I cracked open a bottle of strawberry vodka and mixed a cocktail. Yeah, I know, it was one in the afternoon and I hadn't had anything to eat. Sue me.