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“May and December: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special”

My life has changed so much since my introduction to womanly passion in the arms of my beloved Amora (Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_ Special). It’s hard to believe that almost a year has gone by since our tearful parting on the shores of Cholla Bay. So much has passed my way since then…so many experiences…and not all for the better…

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Journal Entry: March 8

He said he loved me.

He said I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and that he only wanted to be a part of my life. That was when I still believed him…when I thought his youthful, blue eyes were smiling just for me. But no more…

Scott was the kind of man who knew just what to say, what to do to get me to drop my defenses. He was experienced far beyond my tender years, and as I came to know him, I came to trust him.

But…Scott turned out to be a “user”…a manipulator of women, a man of great disguise. I wish I’d known that before I went to his estate that night. It would have saved me a great deal of mental, and physical pain.

Scott’s elaborate home was set far out in the desert to the north of town, away from the bustling byways of Tucson where his “pastimes” might have been more noticeable. It was a beautiful place…a mansion in fact. Built amid a series of courtyards, it boasted huge, Spanish-tiled greatrooms and massive fireplaces…chandeliers and imported tapestries. But, it was the bedroom that demanded center stage.

Scott’s large bedroom suite was masculine in design. This was no surprise, but the heavy, iron rings set in the walls and ceilings, and the odd leather structures scattered about should have alerted me immediately.

Scott laughed them away…a joke set in place by a former owner, he said. Then he cradled my face in his palms and looked deep into my soul. “Trust me…” he’d whispered.

And I had.

We’d eaten on the patio that night, beneath the smog-free brilliance of the clear, desert sky. We had lobster and a light pilaf…and wine…so much wine. My head began to spin with the indulgence of it all…or was it truly the libations alone that had sent me into such a stupor? I remember closing my eyes, the table beginning to waiver ever so slightly, and when I awoke I was in a large, sparsely furnished area adjacent to his bedroom.

But, something was wrong…seriously wrong. I felt myself bent forward over a saddle of sorts…something like that used by gymnasts. I tried to move my arms, but found them bound below me. My ankles were spread on the far side and likewise restrained. I felt the cold leather padding beneath my naked form. Open and exposed, I cringed. Where were my clothes? What was happening? Why was I…?

And then I knew.

Scott sat before me, naked, the familiar warmth gone from his eyes. Now instead, the cold, icy stare of a sadist remained, and I knew I’d made a serious mistake.

“Jillian,” he said, abandoning my preferred nickname of “Bleu”. “It’s about time. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you bound on this thing, helpless and naked…spread…”

Circling, he moved across the room towards me then, a leather riding crop in his hands, and with a savage slash he whipped it across my buttocks once…twice, and a third time until cold flames began to widen and spread over my vulnerable skin.

Hot, salty tears began to stream down my cheeks. Terror and pain, confusion and shame overcame me. I whimpered at first, then cried out as I felt the crop lay a crimson path across my pale flesh once more.

He laughed, and groping between my legs he grabbed my pubic hair in his fist. “I see the collar and cuffs match,” he observed crudely. “I always wondered if you were a natural redhead.”

I felt him move closer, his heated flesh pressed close against my tortured buttocks, his fingers exploring my rounded orbs in perverse delight.

“So pale…so untouched, until now” he murmured. “We’ll have to change that.” And then, in one hard thrust he forced his massive erection deep into my belly, abusing my tender sex with his savage penetration.

I screamed in shock and pain. Nothing had prepared me for this! Humiliation swept through me, and I heard him grunt in satisfaction. Again he lunged, harder this time until I felt that he would rip me asunder with his monstrous proportions.

“No…no…”I pleaded. “Why are you doing this…Scott? Why? Don’t…please. Please!”

His breath came in ragged gasps now, his lunges slowing finally…and then he withdrew. I whimpered in relief, but only for a second. Then I felt his finger probing between my buttocks…pressing against my narrow portal until, with a sigh he thrust it deep inside.

I gasped, squirming to evade his digit, but he held me fast. “So tight, Jillian,” he murmured huskily. “You’ve never been fucked there before, have you?” he laughed. “Good! I like being first!” Then, removing his finger, he parted my trembling buttocks with his hands and ran his tongue along my quivering fissure.

“You’re going to hate this, Jillian…”

“Oh, please, Scott,” I begged. “Don’t do this! I can’t!” I cried, remembering the tiny dildo my former lover had used in that place, and the pain it had caused.

He laughed all the harder at my protestations. “Go ahead and beg,” he said. “I like the sound of it. Scream, if you want to. I like that even better! No one can hear you way out here, Bitch…so scream your lungs out if you like!”

And with that he positioned his throbbing knob against my untried opening…pressing…pressing as I cried out in torment. Then, with a long, hard thrust he hilted himself deep in my narrow passage.

The pain was excruciating! I cried. I begged. Long wails tore from my lungs, piercing the air in their desperation, but my agony only increased his pleasure. With savage intensity he ravaged me over and over until I grew light-headed from my tortured screams and the room began to swim. Finally, as darkness overcame me I felt his hot offering filling my abused body…and then nothing.

Scott delivered me to my apartment the next morning, bruised and battered, warning me of the folly involved in reporting the incident to the police. No one would believe me, he said…his family was too well known. If anything, all of Tucson would believe that I’d engineered the whole episode to capture myself a rich husband, and then turned on him when my plans had failed to yield results. I’d best keep it to myself…or else.

So much for a pretty face! There has to be more to men than this. Why am I doomed to see only the crude underbelly of that peculiar gender! Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong direction.

I think more and more of my beloved Amora, and the sanctuary she holds in waiting for me at Cholla Bay. It would be so easy to run to her…to have her kiss the bruises from my body and soul…but I mustn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to pop in and out of her life like a jack-in-the-box, then leave her alone in the end. But, I long to see her so very much, to have her give me the assurance that only she can instill.

I finger the delicate silver chain with its tiny key dangling between my breasts…her gift. I wear it always now…a reminder that I’m never alone, that I’m loved and that I always have a home.

I must send Amora an e-mail and tell her that everything is all right, that I’m moving to Tempe in a few days to attend Arizona State University. She’ll believe that, and in fact it’s the truth, but it’s also the truth that I can’t bear to stay in this place any longer. At every turn I turn I see memories of my tormentor. I can’t eat…I can’t sleep. He seems to be everywhere.

I have to leave…and start again…

Chapter 2

July 7 – Tempe, Arizona

It’s been so hot in this place! Someone told me yesterday that Arizonan’s never go to hell, because they can’t take the cold.

I can believe it!

I burned my hand on the door handle of my car yesterday, if you can imagine that, and now I can hardly stand to use it. How did people ever live here before air conditioning?

I parked in the small lot by Payne Hall today. My assigned parking place is almost a mile away, and I had too much to carry to deal with it on the ASU parking trolley. So, I paid the extra $5, and was glad that I at least had the option.

Slowly I gathered my books and paperwork, my backpack and purse and climbed the stairs into the shady breezeway that separates the two halves of the building. Ah…whoever designed this building must have been a genius, I thought for the umpty-ninth time as the cool swirl of air lifted my long, auburn hair from my neck.

Summer school had seemed like such a good idea last spring in Tucson, such an easy way to gather an early twelve credits before the fall semester started, but I hadn’t counted on the heat. Now, at the onset of my second summer session, I was wondering if I’d been mad to ever think of such a thing!

Sweaty, and uncomfortable, I shifted my new texts into a tight embrace between my body and my left elbow, trying to adjust my pack and purse in my right. Then everything fell apart. My purse strap began to slip, and making a mad lunge to save it only sent the remainder of my load helter-skelter across the pavement. Books flew in all directions, and my small collection of vital paperwork swirled outward across the neatly trimmed yard like leaves on a whirlwind.

I was in a panic…what to do first, save my purse, my books, or the paperwork that I so desperately needed for my first class? I looked frantically around me for help, but it seemed that the heat had robbed even the most ardent do-gooders of their tendencies. People just hurried on by…rushing desperately toward their next fix of canned air.

I would have to fend for myself.

And so, grabbing my purse, I turned and began to scoop up my errant papers, chasing them here and there as they traveled from one dust devil to another. Did I find them all? Did I…

“Is this yours?” a gentle voice questioned.

Quickly, I turned, and found a smiling, knight-in–shining- armor clutching the last of my documents.

He was tall, this kindly soul, and very attractive. He was perhaps in his fifties, with a smattering of steel gray streaked dashingly across his temples, and the muscular build of a man who loves to work with his hands. The deep tan of his skin told me that he was no novice to the desert sun, and his casual dress spoke of local informality. But it was the warmth of his infinitely blue eyes that attracted me the most. They spoke of concern, of caring…a Samaritan in an age if infidels.

“Are you okay. Miss? Can you get all this?” he asked, nodding at the unkempt pile that sat on the pavement before me. “I’m heading across the breezeway to Farmer if you need some help.”

The name of the familiar, atrium-filled building gave me hope. That was exactly where I was headed! My class in statistics was due to begin in just a few moments, and at this rate I knew I’d be late.

“Oh….thanks! Are you sure?” I hesitated, thinking that he too might be heading somewhere in a hurry. “I’m not going to make you late, am I?”

Again he smiled. He had such a great smile! It just drew you in and made you a part of his world. “Well…maybe a little. But don’t worry about it. I’ve got some leeway.”

With that he gathered the last of my load and headed across the pavement toward the Farmer Building, his pace brisk and step sure. In a few moments we found ourselves standing on the south side of the atrium, at the base of the stairs leading upwards into the catacomb of classrooms above.

“I might as well finish the job,” he joked. “Where to?”

Again I hesitated. He was just too good to be true, and you know what they say about that! “The third floor,” I replied, my better judgement warring with my tired and aching arms. “Room 315.”

Quickly he nodded, and taking the steps two at a time he rapidly covered the distance, with me puffing along behind. “It’s over here on the left,” he nodded, heading in the direction of the door.

“Oh! I can get it now.” I responded, reaching for my books. “You’ve done enough…really!”

“No problem,” he replied, opening the door to 315 and walking into the semi crowded room. “Saving ladies in distress is a hobby of mine.”

Warily, my defenses began to take over. Why didn’t he just leave now? Why was he still standing there? Did he want a tip? “Listen…can I give you a little something for your time?” I asked uneasily, reaching for my purse.

Immediately, the shutters dropped on his sunlit eyes, and a look of saddened resignation took over. “Most people would just say ‘Thanks”,” he replied, leaving my belongings on the nearest desk, and walking toward the front of the room. Then, to my amazement, he turned and walked up to the huge chalkboard attached to the front wall. He paused only a second before taking a piece of chalk in his hand and beginning to write:

“Dr. Benjamin Gates”

“Alright everyone. I’m sorry I’m late,” he smiled, addressing the waiting class. “I’m Ben Gates. You’re welcome to call me Professor Gates or Ben if you prefer. This class is ‘STP 226, Elements of Statistics’. Does everyone have a syllabus?”

My eyes widened, a sinking feeling curling tightly in the pit of my stomach. What were the odds, I wondered? It couldn’t be! My luck with men was holding strong, and all of it bad.

I breathed a sigh, resigning myself to whatever fate might come my way, and buried my nose in my wind-crumpled syllabus. This was going to be a very long semester, and from the look of it, all uphill.

The class lasted for the rest of the morning, as so many of the summer crash courses are wont to do, but finally, my head swimming with descriptive statistics and correlations, I was set free to once again melt in the afternoon sun.

Nervously, I glanced at Dr. Gates, weighing the idea of throwing myself on my sword by way of making amends…but I was too late. Already a group of my peers had gathered around his desk, “add and drop” slips clenched tightly in their sweaty palms, pleas for appointment slots on their lips. It would take forever to get close to him, and even then I would be forced to air my faux pas in a public forum. It was a lost cause.

Resigned to my fate, I gathered my belongings, securely this time, and made my way toward the door. I needed a Coke…and a taco. Maybe some churros and a milkshake would be nice…comfort food to uplift my downtrodden spirit. Cheesecake…that was it, I needed cheesecake! Surely, somewhere in the maze of eateries at the Memorial Union there must be a slice of Sarah Lee’s finest! What would the MU be without forbidden delights?

Quickly I made my way to the ground floor, inhaling the last sweet smell of cool oxygen before braving the blistering day once more. Then, gathering my burdens against my body, I made my way unwaveringly through the blinding rays toward my objective. Already I could feel the faint trickle of sweat trailing between my breasts. Oh, God…let there be cheesecake, I whispered to myself…and if it has nuts and caramel, I’ll do a good deed every day for a week.

Finally my destination loomed before me, and in an instant I slipped through the glass doors and into the blessed embrace of canned air. My body, by now trembling with heat exhaustion, was sweat streaked and wilting. If only I could go braless as my lesser endowed sisters had the option of doing, I would indeed be a happier person at the moment. As it was, my clothing, bra and all, was stuck to my body like a second skin. Every curve and freckle stuck out as though I were wearing the “Emperor’s New Clothes”…absolutely nothing. I had to rid myself of some of my excess wardrobe…it was a necessity. But, ever since the abuse I’d suffered at Scott’s hands only a few months ago, I’d taken to dressing in layers of loose, concealing clothing. What was I to do?

Quickly, I bought an icy Coke from a nearby vendor and tossed back its contents, hungry for the chill relief it promised.

It was a mistake.

Suddenly, my body was wracked with pain, a brutal cramp tore at the core of my chest, and I doubled in agony.

“Hey!” a familiar voice intruded. “Don’t you know any better than to…”

Then, as the shadows darkened, I felt the floor rise up to meet me, and a hush fell over the room. The sweet smell of cheesecake began to fade in my mind, and the cool tile of the marble flooring caressed my cheek.

The day, so long and tortuous, was not yet through with me…not by a long shot.

Chapter 3

I felt the cool. Wet trail of his tongue long before I opened my eyes. His hands, so delightfully chilled, enticed my nipples to attention and I moaned in rapture. He was here, my white knight…Professor Dr. “call-me-Ben Gates”…stroking my body and whispering words that sent my blood racing in intimate profusion. “Oh yes,” I whispered, my voice a soft hush amid the rhythmic waves of compressed air. “Touch me there, Ben. Touch me…”

Rhythmic waves?

Ben?

My eyes flew open. This couldn’t be happening…not this too! Had I really said…?

Then I cringed. There, before me sat none other than Ben Gates himself, a cool cloth in his hand, stroking my clammy brow in the dim light of the college infirmary.

“My Dear, “ he said in amusement, “if I touched you anywhere else I think we’d both be in trouble.” Then he laughed. He thought this was funny! What an ass!

I could feel the ire rising in my craw. I’d drop his class…drop all of my classes and transfer to another college. I didn’t need this kind of…

“How are you feeling?” he asked, the concern evident in his voice. “You just can’t chug a cold drink like that when you’re overheated in this climate. It reacts like an extreme brain freeze. Don’t you know that? Your system can’t take the shock. You have to sip…”

“Ohhhh,” I moaned, my head pounding. “I can’t believe how that felt. And here you are again. You were touching…ooohhhhhh!”

I could feel the crimson fire spread from beneath my collar and up along my cheekbones. If it hadn’t been for the warmth of his smile, the understanding twinkle in his eyes, I would have gladly curled up beneath the infirmary cot and died a grateful death. As it was, I felt once more in his debt, a position I found anything but comfortable.

“So you’ve saved me again.” I replied, trying to make light of my embarrassment. “You may need to keep an eye on me,” I laughed. “I’m an accident waiting for a place to happen, it seems”.

It was his turn to laugh then. “I’m sure there are any number of young rescue workers here on campus who’d like that job.” he smiled. “They’d stampede right over a senior citizen like me!”

Senior citizen? Him? I couldn’t imagine it! The cool touch of his hand on my brow drifted once more through my mind, and I felt my nipples stiffen. If Ben Gates was an example of American aging, then I had a lot to look forward to.

Ben rose then, and offering his hand he helped me to my shaky feet. “The nurse says that you can head along as soon as you’re able, but that you shouldn’t drive. Have you got a way to get home?”

Immediately I thought of my sun-baked Beetle, sizzling in the heat by Payne Hall and realized that the nurse had been right. Driving this afternoon was out of the question. Even now my head continued to pound and my vision blurred. I felt as though a million tiny jumping beans had taken over my system. Driving like this would be criminal.

“Oh, sure.” I replied shaking my head. “It’s not far. I can just call a cab and…”

“A cab?” he echoed, amazed at my naiveté. “After what you’ve just gone through, you’re going to go out and wait for a cab? You’ve got a lot to learn, ‘My Girl’, if you’re going to survive this summer. You just came close to a heat stroke. You’re not used to this temperature. You need to stay out of the sun for a little while until you get back on your pins. Don’t you know anyone who can drive you home?”

I thought for a moment, not the easiest task I’d attempted today, and silently shook my head. I didn’t know anyone here, not a single soul. Who could I call to help me? Who’d care?

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