Turn the Lights Out When You Leave

I held onto Alan in the driveway as the limo drove off and out of sight and suddenly he took one hand and clasped his fingers with mine with the right hand andplaced his other on the small of my back. Slowly we began a stumbling waltz overlooking the city lights that seemed so far from the rest of the world. We circled around to no music, snickering to each other at the silliness and merriment we felt. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was his age and the reality that he seemed to be going off his rocker. But I enjoyed it. I felt some feelings stirring in my heart for him. So what if Rima was on her way, and so what if the world saw us and we would be denying these things we were doing for possibly the rest of our lives? He was mine tonight. And tomorrow.
He was with me and he was mine.

At least till the spell was broken and I had a few days left. This was an extended Cinderella.

"How many arms have held you? And hated to let you go?" He began singing lowly. "How many, how many I wonder? - But I really don't want to know." Then he circled me one last time and I felt the intenseness of his gaze under the starry sky, amplified by the lights behind him. I saw the glint in his eyes. This neighborhood had to be on one of the highest hills in LA, or wherever we were, it didn't matter. We swayed our bodies together in a vertical position of a horizontal desire and his baritone voice continued to sing as we danced.

"How many lips have kissed you? And set your soul aglow? How many, how many, I wonder..." He flung me out until just our hands were still connected then circled me back into his arms with my back to him. "But I really don't want to know." He closed his eyes and I closed mine and we kissed. His scent was intoxicating. It smelled like he had smoked a cigarette or two and then the alchohol on his breath was sickeningly sweet, as though he were drunk on his own mistakes and the booze had been a cover for the regret and the cigarettes were more than cigarettes, but a cover for the regret and part of me felt the cigarette in this case was me.

But still I didn't care. When our lips parted slowly, I hesitated opening my eyes for fear it had been a dream and he hadn't come back to me. This was the man who hurt me. And I was giving him another chance and I thought I learned long ago not to give chances. But when I opened my eyes, there he was. Eyes half open, glazed over in a type of intoxication I couldn't place. But somehow I knew the look. And a corner of his lip curled into a smirk and he asked, "Wanna come in?" I looked his face up and down and whispered a husky "Yes", and I helped him to the door.

Once inside the threshold, I looked up and down the block. I wonder if anyone understood the feeling. I wonder if his neighbors woke up in the middle of the night and thought he was a lunatic, or that maybe, at least one of them, if they had seen us, understood the feeling and the heartache, butterflies and silly circumstances and unbearable drama that came with it, then decided silently to themselves to go back to bed instead of calling the police for public intoxication. I closed the door quietly and blocked the thought out. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and took off my stillettos and walked into the living room where a fire was roaring in the hearth, but Alan was nowhere to be seen. I went ahead and sat on the couch facing the fireplace and noticed a half empty bottle on the table. I tilted it towards the glow of the fireplace. Ezra Brooks. Whiskey.

Well that explained why he was able to say all those things to me. Liquid courage. 'For a drunken mind speaks a sober heart', someone once wrote. Then I thought to myself, but he's an actor. Actor. It then occurred to me: I was going to be branded that forever. And if I ever had any emotional dramas, or reprimands to make, they couldn't be sure if I was ever sincere. Alan could've lied his way through the whole thing. But the way his eyes were. I refused to believe it. I wanted the words to ring true. I adjusted my dress as I heard clinking. Suddenly, Alan was behind me. The dinner jacket to his tuxedo had disappeared. As had his shoes. His hands were holding two rounded glasses for liquore drinking. He handed one to me and kept one himself.

"Just a bit more and I'll be done." Alan stated as he got on his knees by the coffee table and twisted the top of the bottle off and poured some in his glass, then mine.

"Done? For the night, or with the bottle?" I smirked. It felt like a snarky moment.

"Now Laney-lay, don't be chiding me on drinking. Who passed out on who here?" He inquired, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at me and finished pouring my drink, offering it to me. I accepted it and felt the coolness of the smooth glass in my palm. "What should we toast to?" He asked, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead as he came up with one.

"Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow's dark array, Days of absence, I am weary; She I -" I looked at him viciously.

"If you finish that quote, I'll rip your heart out." Had he forgotten so quickly who I was?

"I'm sorry, Delaney. But teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, my lady, not for such contempt." He motioned his hand over his heart. "Maybe you better toast then." I thought about all my feelings and maybe it was best to quote something that would echo both our sentiments of unrequited love.

"Love not- the thing you love may change. The rosy lip may cease to smile on you; the kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange," I swirled the contents and looked at the dark liquid in my glass as I continued trying my best eloquence. "The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. Love not again." Alan clinked his glass to mine and gave a morose smile and downed his and then stared into the bottom of the glass like some puzzling conundrum lay before his eyes at the depths where the alchohol had been seconds before.

"Do you hate me, Delaney?" He asked, furrowing his brows together in a look of concern as though he knew my answer would be yes and he just needed it repeated to be sure so he could resume letting go of the metaphorical guillotine rope that was over his own head. I seriously considered it. On one hand I did hate him.I hoped adultery was a real commandment just so he could be denied to whatever form of heaven there was after this life was over. Then on the other hand, I admitted my secret to myself that maybe, quite possibly, I did love this man. I mean, I would've had second thoughts had I known about Rima before this man walked up to me and called my attention. From the first moment I had been insulted to when he touched my hand to help me gather my things, I knew even then, there was something between us.

"No, I don't. I don't hate you, Alan." I replied and tried to swallow the burning liquid in one gulp. It burned my throat as it went down and I still felt it in my esophagus, like it would come back up at any moment and I had to wonder to myself, like heroin addicts, sometimes the experience was not enjoyable; so why do people voluntarily do this to themselves?

A few shots later and Alan was sitting sideways with me laying in his lap, my back to him as we pondered things together. Occasionally he'd run his fingertips up and down my arms and occasionally he'd try to distract me and run his palms over my breasts and carress them. But eventually, I'd stop him and continue talking.

"Alan? Can I ask you something?" I inquired. Everything in my head spun about a bit and I did feel a little nausea, but I stayed put and kept my eyes closed. "Do you love Rima?" He sighed and rubbed the backsides of my arms with his hands and gave me an answer.

"Yes. I do. But I fear, she doesn't love me." He went silent for a moment and I was sure he was looking at the Christmas photograph taken those short years ago and continued, "Not anymore at least." I sighed and closed my eyes feeling his heart beating and the motions of him breathing. Just to think a few short days ago, he had been just the man I'd seen in a couple of movies with my dad. Now here we were, laying together and he was just Alan. Just Alan. While the amazement of the new relationship came to my mind, suddenly I was made aware his hands had moved and felt his hand move under the plunging neckline in my dress and felt the material move to the side on both ways and both my breasts were exposed. He cupped them and rolled my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and they hardened at the touch. He pushed me forward and turned me around. facing him on my knees on the couch. He cupped both breasts and admired them now so close to his face. I felt his breath upon them.

"Magnificent tits..." He murmerred and grabbed one breast and took the nipple into his mouth and began sucking hard like a baby suckling for milk. My breathing quickened and a soft moan escaped my lips and he smirked a bit, as he beared his teeth and grabbed the sensitive tissue inbetween his teeth gently. I took a sharp breath in surprise. I was shocked to find myself pushing my breasts more into his face, he grasped the other one hard in his hand and I took in another breath, for the life of me- I coudln't tell him to stop. His distraction had worked. As he continued sucking on one nipple, he let the hand go that held my breast in place and let it wander to the bottom of the dress. He pulled it up and ran his fingers over the material of the black thong I wore. I just about soaked through.

"Does someone like this?" He squeezed the area he coulf gtsdp. I yelped in surprise and sensed he wanted me to answer. "Do you like how I touch you?"

"Yes!" I practically cried. His new roughness was a new side of him. It was a turn on. He sqeezed my nipple as hard as his fingertips would allow him to. "Call me daddy." I looked at him strangely as I almost cried. It hurt.
"Yes, daddy! I like how you touch me!" I answered, trying to hold back tears. He released me and as I started to get up he grabbed my wrists and pulled me down on the couch quickly on my back and sat ontop of me. An unknown rage overcame him.

"You're a whore. You're just fucking me to ruin my life! You want to ruin me!" I shook my head no as tears escaped my eyes. He slapped me across the face and the force made me turn my head away, now covered by fallen hair that had come out of place. I was flashing back.

"No! I'm not!" He slapped me again. "I'm not!" Slap! "I swear!" SLAP! He grabbed my shoulders and shook me getting me to my feet.

"Say what you are!" I tried to conceal my breasts back inside my dress, but he ripped the cloth away and made the neckline plunge from the my mid-chest to the meeting of my hips.

"I''m Delaney Lindley." I cried and tried not to shout. "And I love you."

"Say you're a whore!"

"I love you." SLAP! And with that slap I found myself lying on the couch crying my eyes out. "Please Alan. Please!" I felt him running his fingers over my thong and practically tearing it down my legs. "Please, Alan. Not. like. this!" He grabbed my chin and I stared into the most malice filled, sadistic, eyes I'd seen in a long time. I felt his other fingers run along my dripping sex, and suddenly 3 were plunged in. I cried out a little.

"So, wet. So tight. You whore. You like this, don't you, you slag? You liked getting fucked by Daddy and it seems you want him to now..." He undid his trousers and pulled the suspenders off his shoulders and alligned himself with my entrance. "Say it."

"Yes, Daddy. I'm a whore." I cried and sobbed the words. "And I want you to fuck me." He looked at my reddened, puffy face and running mascara and said one word.

"Beg."

"Please, Daddy. I want you to fuck my pussy, Daddy." I felt humiliated and degraded beyond words. And I felt him ram himself as hard as he could into me and my legs went up overr his shoulders as he plunged and I thought he was really ripping me apart. Then half way through I found a spot on the ceiling to look at and dream of being somewhere else. Then he breathed heavily.

"No, no. Sluts like it the other way." He turned me over and rubbed some of my wetness across my asshole and plunged a finger in. Then two and I cried even louder.

"Daddy! Please stop!" I felt him take his member in his hand and run it along my pussy lips like he was basting it in lubricant. Then I felt a lot of pressure at my rear entrance, I closed my fists.

"Daddy!... Please..." He entered quickly and I felt pain and burning. "Alan!" It hurt so bad I thought surely I'd pass out from the pain. Then suddenly he stopped, got up and pulled me from the couch and forced me to my knees till I was face to face with his member that throbbed as he masturbated infront of me and squirted his release all over my face. I fell to the floor and just stared blankly. He rolled me over on my back and began walking away and I continued staring, knowing crying wasnt going to make the pain stop.

I laid there hoping it'd be too much shock for my heart I'd die right there.

"Is this what you do to Rima?" I whispered hoarsely as I looked at him walking out of the room, toweling off his face and back of his neck with a hanky.

"...No wonder she left you."