Deception
July 5th, 1992
I had been frustrated, to say in the least. It was midnight and I hadn't been able to fall asleep, so I decided to go to the bar a couple blocks away from my apartment. It was a dingy little thing, with old seats and the smell of cigarettes permanently saturated into its walls. The wallpaper was peeling; the chairs were flattened out from years of patrons sitting on them. My thoughts kept me awake, so I thought maybe some alcohol would quiet them down. And then, I could go to sleep only to wake up to another day of work, another day of ceaseless conflict. But, what I didn't except to find was a woman, sitting three chairs away from me sipping what looked like a gin and tonic.
She had to be in her late thirties, but was still attractive in a way that would make any man of any age feel a little weak in the knees. She had black hair cascading down her shoulders like little ripples on the ocean's surface. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the contrast of her rosy lips against her pale skin, like rose petals falling onto the first snow. And her eyes, like a vast green forest, were absolutely entrancing. Though, I told myself, that she was not mine to have. I could only imagine, only dream of her later tonight—and maybe that would be what would finally lure me to sleep, those thoughts of her.
But then, to my surprise, I noticed her glance over to me. There was a smile playing on her lips as she took the next sip of her drink. She took several more peaks at me, and I wondered if I was imagining this. She'd look to me, realize I had noticed, and then look back into her drink, sometimes biting her lips shyly. The bartender, who had taken over ten minutes to attend to me, took my attention away from her.
"What'll you have?" he asked, tiredness gripping his voice.
"Scotch, on the rocks," I replied dryly, finally looking over to her again only to see that this time, she had not evaded her glance as quickly as before.
I sipped at my drink, slowly. There was a small part of me that wished I was a younger man, though I knew that even if I was younger, I shouldn't have involved myself with anything so petty. And yet, here I was, imagining the things I could do to this woman.
She got up from her stool and I sighed a sigh of relief, hoping that once she left the bar, I would finally be able to drink my scotch in peace. But, instead of leaving, she came over to the stool directly next to me and sat down. "Hello," she said in her husky voice, smiling a little at me.
I simply nodded, taking a sip from my drink.
"My name is Martha," she said, looking at me hopefully.
"Charles," I replied, now unable to keep myself from attending to her completely. "You know, not all young women take glances older men."
"Well, many young women don't know what they're missing," she replied, her fingers reaching into my coat's breast pocket and taking out the box of cigarettes I kept in it.
I took the box from her and pulled out a cigarette myself, mutter as I lit it, "So what brings you here tonight?"
"What brings every else to a bar this late at night, you know."
"And what would that be?"
"Demons." She took the cigarette from my lips and took a puff from it, never breaking eye contact with me. "That's why you're here this late, isn't it?"
"You could call it that, I suppose." I took another cigarette, slightly nervous because of her forwardness. "So, what are your demons?" I asked nonchalantly, thinking she wouldn't answer.
"A lack of love. Scarcity of human contact. Loneliness." She pushed the cigarette into the ashtray. Placing her hand on top of mine, she whispered, "I know you've been looking at me the way I've been looking at you. Thinking what I've been thinking. Wanting…"
"There are a dozen other men in this bar, all of them younger and more attractive than me. I'm halfway sure that this is some trick you're playing on me to have a laugh. Maybe you should go home and play pranks with your little friends."
"Attractiveness is so objective. Besides, who are you to tell me what I want to do right now, hmm?" She was frustrated, and I liked that. The furrow in her eyebrows, the irate tone in her voice, made her all the sexier to me.
"Maybe you should thinking of me as an old wise man, giving you honest advice."
"And not a scared old man, afraid that this moment is too good to be real?"
He looked away from her, but let her hand stay on top of his a little longer. "I've lived life long enough to know what I'm saying here. Besides, you wouldn't want to get involved with me."
"You know, if you change your mind, I'll be on the other side of the bar."
I laughed, pulling my hand away from hers. "I think I'm just going to finish my drink and head home." I told myself, it was better this way. It was best to not entangle myself in affairs. I had other things to think of—the fate of the world, the preservation of the U.S.'s standing as a world power.
She stood, disappointed, her eyes filled with the pain of rejection. She took her drink with her, to the other side of the bar. She found someone else to talk to. A younger man this time, average height and relatively fit. She laughed half-heartedly at his jokes, pretended to be spell-bound by his half-drunk musings.
I didn't leave after finishing my first drink. In fact, I had ordered another. I was angry with myself for letting her walk away, for rejecting her. Most of all, I was peeved by the fact that there was an undeserving man pitifully trying to seduce her while she acted as if she was utterly enticed by him. She laughed, her laugh melodic and sweet, like a melody composed for the ears of gods. A smile spread across her face that could have lit this entire room. It was all wasted upon his other man who was looking for a one night stand with just any girl who was drunk enough to let herself be used. Jealousy bit at my veins as I watched Martha.
I left my half-empty drink and two ten dollar bills on the bar, and I walked over to her. I grabbed her arm, taking a deep breath as I watched her turn to face me. "Changed your mind?" she asked, amused.
"We're leaving," I said, staring down the younger man next to her.
"Like she'd want to fuck some old piece of shit like you!" he shouted, slurring his words.
She walked out of the bar with me without question, the door closing behind us. "I don't want just a fuck," I said. "I'm not that kind of man."
"Then what do you want?" she asked curiously.
"I'm going to take you to my apartment, and then we'll go from there. If, that's alright."
We continued walking, wordlessly, to my apartment. The climb was six flights of stairs, though she didn't seem to mind. Her hand brushed up against my arm and I could feel goosebumps rise up onto my skin, a testament to the effect she had on me. I unlocked my door, willing my hands to not shake.
She looked inside the apartment, scanning it carefully. It was small, a bit messy, and in no way spectacular. Papers were strewn on the floor by the desk, and an old arm chair sat in front of a small T.V. that I had forgotten to turn off. "You have a lovely home," she laughed.
"People should really skip the formalities," I mused before closing the door behind us. "Do you want anything?"
"Water would be great, thanks." She brushed her hair with her fingers as she continued to look over my apartment.
I was unsure of what I was doing, or if it was a wise thing to do in any case. I hadn't come across opportunities like these much anymore. I was old and alone, so used to fighting battles for anyone but myself that I had forgotten about my own needs. And yet, here was a chance, wide open, starring doe-eyed at me as I fumbled my way through pouring her a glass of water.
Initially, when I had received the order to seduce this man, I hadn't wanted to. Part of the reason was because I was still young—I hadn't been part of the organization for very long. I thought they saw me as expendable, and I wasn't quite ready to risk my life over a mission that involved opening my legs for a few pieces of information. But also, I didn't want to do this because I had actually found him attractive. I had been surprised, at first, when I felt my fingers tingle when I placed my hand over his. I had been even more surprised that looking at him alone made me nervous. Though, I knew that all of these things could only serve to harm me.
I took a sip of my water, letting an awkward silence consume us as we struggled to find words to say. I slid my hand down the back of his head and over his neck, carefully watching him as he shuddered in pleasure. "Do you have somewhere else we could maybe sit, talk for a little while," I asked. He wasn't an idiot, I knew. I was shocked that he hadn't seen through this rouse, though I could understand why such a young woman coming on to him like this could seem like a dream to him.
"Just to talk," he said, leading me into his bedroom.
He turned on the lights, revealing a fittingly small room that was almost comically bland. The bed was just big enough for two people. I kicked off my shoes and sat down, waiting for him to join me. "I don't bite, you know."
"Oh, you don't?" he spoke, feigning disappointment. I liked the way the lines around his eyes crinkled up when he smiled.
He took his coat off and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed before he sat down. He was still weighing his options, I knew. I could tell that he didn't want to risk his clarity by involving himself with a woman. Maybe, he feared that after tonight, he would want more. But, what did I know? Maybe, I was projecting my own fears into him.
"What was the happiest moment of your life?" I placed my hand on his chest, tapping my fingers against it lightly. He smelled of smoke and cologne; together, they were an aphrodisiac to me. I felt my loins stirring with heat.
"Oh, I don't remember, at this point." His fingers played with the ends of my hair, twirling and twisting it, lavishing in the softness of it.
"Come on. You won't sleep with me, or kiss me. You can't even make decent conversation now?"
"The happiest moment of my life was when my son was born," he finally said, staring off into the distance.
"You're married?" I asked, panicking slightly. Our profile on him had said he had been single, no children.
"Divorced now, actually. Haven't seen my family in a very long time. That's what happens, I suppose—when you put work over life." He looked at my chest, marveling at my cleavage. I had worn a simple black dress the revealed my best features in just the right way. "And what about you?"
"And what about you?" he had asked, lost in the sadness of his memories that he would have rather forgotten.
"I remember, one year, when I had just finished the eighth grade, my father had bought me a book. A Farewell to Arms, by Hemmingway. I had asked him over and over to buy me a copy. We never had much money, so I didn't get many books. Birthday presents were even rarer than books. But this one year, he got me that book. I'd never been happier. I hugged him and kissed his cheeks. I still have that book, somewhere in a box, waiting to be placed on a bookshelf."
He was entranced by her, holding onto her every word as she spoke. "What was your favorite part of about the book?"
"The ending—when Catherine dies and Frederic walks home alone in the rain. It was so fitting, so perfect. For such a masochistic character, an almost poetic ending."
"Huh," he said, truly thinking about the novel. He had read it time and time again, and seeing the ending this way made him oddly satisfied. He had always thought it was out of place, until she had opened his eyes. "Martha," he whispered.
"Yeah?" She unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, licking her lips. "What's your favorite book?"
"The Postman Always Rings Twice." He grabbed her hand and looked at her fingers carefully. She was something else, he knew. Intelligent, witty, entrancing. "I particularly like the moment where Frank and Cora first kiss." His lips neared hers, capturing them wildly.
His lips were soft, warm. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol was on them. She closed her eyes, deepening the kiss. His hands slid over her lower back, and he pushed her body closer to his. She was extraordinary, the way she absolutely melted at his touch. She moaned out as he bit down on her lip, savoring the pleasure filled pain.
Closed flew off of their bodies and landed onto the carpeted floor, leaving them naked against each other. He looked at her porcelain body, curvy in the right places with breasts that any man would yearn to touch. He rolled her onto her back and placed his mouth over a rosebud nipple, sucking it, nibbling it. She mewled out, arching her back in ecstasy as his mouth covered her body with kisses and bites. He didn't fuck her like a wild animal. He put passion into it, letting the lust build up between them until it consumed them like a midsummer wildfire consumes a forest.
She placed his hands onto the side of his arms, squirming beneath him. "Please, I need you inside of me," she husked, her voice brimming with need.
He captured her lips in a passionate kiss as he entered her depths, feeling warmth explode between them. He rocked into her slowly at first, testing the waters. He found the spot he was looking for, watching her as her eyes widened in surprise. He thrusted in harder, groaning at how perfectly tight she was. "Fuck," he groaned into her ear, thrusting into her faster.
"Right there!" she screamed out, consumed by arousal. "Fuck, baby. Harder, please." She arched her back as she felt herself on the brink of orgasm, her eyes watering at the beauty of the feeling.
A sense of euphoria swept over him as he watched her write beneath him, beg him to let her cum. He silenced her cries with his lips, thrusting into her faster as she moaned against his lips. "Come on, just a little longer," he pleaded. He took her hands and held onto them above her head, holding her steadily as he began to completely lose himself to the orgasm that rocked him. She came with him, closing her eyes, tears falling onto her cheeks.
"Charles," she moaned out breathily, falling limp underneath him and panting.
She turned onto her side and placed her head on top of his chest. He stroked her hair as she lay next to him, reveling in the warmth between them. She smiled, realizing that she enjoyed the feeling of being next to him. She found the smell of cigarettes on his skin an odd comfort. She was terrified, then, that if she let this go on to long, that she could develop feelings for a man that she wasn't allowed to fall for. There were others out there, but none that could fuck her so sweetly. What was it about him that made him seem so attractive to her?
"That was maybe the best sex of my life," she uttered, blowing cool breath against his skin.
He chuckled in disbelief, "I'm guessing you haven't had much sex in your life then." His hand moved down to her arm, and he rubbed circles into it gently. "Why me?" he asked, genuinely.
"Because I saw you and I liked you, Charles. Why does there have to be much else to it?"
He stood up from the bed, walking over to the light switch stark naked. "You must be fifteen years younger than me," he began. "There has to be more. It's the way things work." He turned off the lights.
"You'd be surprised to find how many younger women would want to be with you, then."
He lay back down and took her into his arms, pulling her back to his abdomen. "This must be a dream, then." He kissed her shoulder sleepily. "And if it is, I hope I don't wake up." Because he knew, after he woke up, she would be gone and he would return to work, just working, just living a maddeningly stagnant life. Despite all of the excitement in it, after years of the excitement in it, he feared there was nothing more to his life than the mission, than the goal. And yet, here was a young woman in his arms, a new spark in his dark life. He closed his eyes, falling asleep with her in his arms.
A/N: I hope you like this first chapter! More to come soon. Keep an eye out for the next chapter, and leave a review on this one if you can.