Daniel

Everything is just a little bit different now. Though I kept my word to not be hovering over Kita, her presence is hard to ignore. Even when we are in separate rooms, I can hear her phone buzzing, her moving around, just the daily activities of another living animal in my nest.

Her being here has changed so much. My house smells different. We seem to eat the same sorts of things, that's good. I was afraid of allowing a junk food addict into the house but she seems to prefer whole foods like fruits and lean meats, just like I do. She cleans up after herself, and that's also good. I'm not complaining, but it is significant. I like to have everything a certain way and not have that process disturbed.

But still, even though she is not making a mess, she has a vibration. She has a scent. She has an animal presence that almost tints the air around her. She is like a color, or a song.

And it's getting harder and harder to forget about her.

I knew it the moment I saw her. Her small form, her athletic gestures. She was so helpless there in the bar, surrounded by those vultures.

But it was more than that. Her looks are definitely Slavic in origin, like the girls who use to haunt the American Embassy in Moscow, where I spent some time when I was in the military. I loved everything about them. Their strength, the song-like sound of their language, their easy laughs but cagey natures. It was as though everyone in the former Soviet Union knew that at any time there was the possibility of espionage. Of spy craft. They wanted to be friendly and personable, but also had a deep, cultural awareness of the suspicious situation between our countries.

When I was barely in my twenties, I didn't know anything about people, not really. How we are basically the same, no matter where we were born. How everybody believes they are doing their best, no matter which side they are on. I believed the protocols about staying arm’s length away from the Russians to be the best strategy. That was what we were instructed to do. Some of the guys had relationships with local Moscow girls, but it was frowned upon by top brass.

So I kept to myself, building more and more substantial blockades against interpersonal intrusions. From behind my mental fence, I could just watch them, eventually learning not too long for it too much. They got more distant, becoming like fairies of my imagination. Something I could see, but could not touch.

But Kita reminded me what I had missed. What I pretended did not exist in me, this magnetic attraction to those mysterious, enchanting young women.

And there's something else.

Something that feels so wrong. There's an old saying about how when you save someone's life, then you're responsible for it. I'm not sure that's exactly true, but it might explain why I feel like I need to be over her. I don't just want to be next to her, I want to be on top of her. I want to shelter her from everyone who might do her harm. I want to make sure she does exactly the right things in her life. I want to…

No, I should not be thinking about that.

She's half my age, I know that. I don't have any children of my own, and have never had a wife. So, how can I possibly have these dark feelings? How can I be so possessive? But I do, and they don't make sense. And I know that our animal natures don't have to make sense, but this is disturbing.

I want her in ways I'm ashamed of. Not in enlightened feminist ways. In caveman, Tarzan, brutal ways, where I can take her apart and then put her back together. Mold her body around my body. Dismantle her defenses and plunge into her until she begs for mercy…

I'm ashamed.

I’m trying to stay out of her way, hoping this feeling subsides. Maybe I’ve just been alone too long and her presence is uncovering an accumulation of feelings. Maybe it will dissipate soon. It better. I’m not sure how long I can resist.

Every day she goes to class at the University. I gave her use of the Jeep Wrangler, pleased to find out that she does know how to drive a stick shift. She goes to class every day, returns for lunch, then leaves again. All while I attempt to hide out in my study. But her regular schedule makes it easier to stay out of sight. There are very few surprises.

And yet…

It's like an extended game of hide and seek, almost. Of course, I'm the only one playing it. I know this is my imagination, but some part of me is always on alert. I sometimes catch the flash of her light blonde hair as she rounds a corner. I find drops of water at the bottom of the sink and know she's just washed her dishes. I hear her light footsteps above me.

Every time, a spring coils tighter inside me. I'm happy to know she's here, but I also want to cross paths with her. The scenes get carried away in my mind. I imagine making it look like an accident, just happening to be in the hallway at the same time as her.

Then I remember, that is sort of creepy. I should definitely not do that.

Then again, it's nice how efficiently this worked out. I'm happy to know that I was right about her. She's very studious just like I thought she would be, very dedicated to her studies. She has done everything that I asked her at the beginning, without complaining or creating more than the slightest ripple in my life.

Which I’m happy about. No ripples. Great.

I feel the vibration of the overhead garage door as she leaves for class and realize the coast is clear and I can arise and begin my day. When I hear the vibration again, that's the door closing behind her.

I stare at the ceiling for another minute or two, just breathing. Waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. She’s gone. I can relax.

[changes start here]

I get out of bed, tucking the blankets back into place behind me and fluffing the pillows. This is the one place in the house that hasn’t changed. Her scent has not yet invaded this room. The sheets haven’t yet succumbed to her weight.

Yet.

Wait.

Am I really thinking that?

Yes I am. The bed is made but I just stare at it for a few moments, tempting myself with thoughts of her invasion here. How the left pillow would indent under her hair. How her long legs would extend under the blankets, creating a whole new topography above the bedspread. A whole new warmth underneath.

New shapes to explore, new valleys to traverse. The feral, heated presence of another animal in my den constantly reminding me of my own human presence.

Okay, but that’s not going to happen.

Aggravated with myself, I turn to my dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of cotton briefs and some shorts. I need a run. I need to clear my head.

But she keeps popping back into my consciousness, like all those small hints of her around the house. I try to concentrate on other things, but there she is.

I need to relieve this pressure. How much is one man supposed to endure?

Staring at the bed, the empty space there, I can almost see a ghost of her. Her sweet smile, her welcoming stare. The fresh shorts drop from my fingers as I stare back at the invisible image, letting my body respond to that promise.

My hand drifts down my abdomen, finding my cock already stiff and bulging with urgency. As I wrap my fingers around it, the longing swells intensely.

I can’t resist. I know it. I need this release.

My free hand grips the bedpost as I jerk myself much slower than I want to, letting the image of her solidify. Her hair fanned over the pillow. Her shoulder just visible above the blanket. She bites her lower lip and mouths my name as she pulls the blanket down. Inviting me in, begging me…

As the heat builds in my abdomen and under my balls, I feel that familiar clench and remember that it's been a long, long time since I've been with a woman. Work has taken over my life to such an extent that I can't make the time for someone the way that another person deserves.

I shouldn’t. I don’t need this distraction either. It will go away if I ignore it. I should stop now...

I have to give in. I have to take the edge off. It’s too much to keep going around like this. Something has to give.

As I stroke my shaft firmly in my palm, I grip the bedpost tighter. It feels so good, amazingly good. Better than I would have expected. The ghost of her keeps taunting me, dragging me further down the path.

The image of her bare throat flashes through my mind. Her chest heaving slightly as she pushes the blankets down further. Her hips swiveling back and forth as she wriggles against the blankets, begging me to join her. Her graceful hands, digging against the sheets.

In moments I'm thrusting harder into my fist, letting the urgency build. I can imagine her finally kicking the blankets the rest of the way down, exposing her slender, long legs. The pink swatch of her panties is just barely visible before she lunges forward, crawling to meet me. Then she is touching me, wrapping those long fingers around me, teasing me with her featherlight touch. Wanting to please me, letting me please her. Her eyes half-lidded and intense. Her breath through her parted lips.

I come so quickly, so explosively it takes me by surprise. I hear myself bark out a single word as orgasm explodes through me:

“Kita!”

And I want to be ashamed, but as I shoot my load over the bedspread, I listen to my heart pounding and feel that delicious bliss, that silvery sense of relief that comes soon after. In those few seconds, I see her sweet smile, her gratitude and trust.

But I can't be like that. I know that. This indulgence here, jerking off alone, in my room letting those thoughts flow through me, this has to be it.

After my breathing returns to normal, I put on fresh shorts and pull the bedspread off so I can launder it. She’ll never know. I’ll go out for a run and purge the rest of my energy through sweat.

Like it never happened.