Tunnel of Love Pt. 03

Oh god... he's probably looking down my blouse. My nipples are so hard. This thin bra I'm wearing won't conceal them...

Maybe, Collette thought, she should turn, kiss him hard on the mouth, and press her sex against his loins. No aroused man, she knew, could do anything but bump and grind if joined with a woman—even through clothes—at the hips and thighs.

He's hard, isn't he, I can feel it! Mike's hard for me...for me!

Nervous, Collette hesitated...but then her trembling right hand lifted slightly. She was going to do it. Take his right hand, move it to her tit: a woman's unambiguous signal that she was ready and willing to be ravished. It would mean submission—the point of no return.

Oh god, I feel squishy. Am I that wet?

Feeling self-consciousness now, Collette hesitated...but it wasn't going to last. No doubt about it, she thought—they were going to fuck. Right there, in the kitchen, maybe.

Or maybe they would make it upstairs to her bedroom. That would be okay; the kids, Bobby and Mikey, surely were deeply asleep now. Bobby in his bed, and Mikey—

Bobby, in his bed, dreaming of Daddy coming back...

Mikey, sleeping here because his dad is living at a hotel...

Mike, in bed with me, a woman not his wife...

Remember when it was me in Mikey's bed...

And Richard, in my bed, with her, the "other woman"...

Man-stealer...

Marriage-breaker...

Home-wrecker...

Me?

Collette continued to hesitate, but as Mike drew just a hair closer, she realized it was too late. Her reservations would haunt her in the morning, but now, they were irrelevant. She was too far gone.

I need this. To be with a man. To be with the right man...a good man...and a man who understands and shares my pain!

Collette leaned back against Mike. She shuddered as his erection settled into the crack of her ass.

I'm sorry, Jennifer...Mikey...but he's going to touch me, kiss me, and there will be no turning back. I'm going to spread my legs for him and beg him to fuck me.

Collette took Mike's hand from her waist and began raising it to her breast.

* * *

Jennifer ascended the stairs, with Peter close behind her. As Peter had said, she knew the way—Mike and she had been to Peter's home many times. They'd gotten the grand tour more than once. Peter was always eager to show off his latest acquisitions: paintings, sculptures, vases, woodwork. Some pieces, Jennifer knew, he kept in his home office—where she'd also seen his computer. As she reached the door of the office, Jennifer stopped and gestured at it.

"I want to see it first. Show me the video."

Peter didn't like being told what to do, especially by a woman, and especially by a woman whom he was blackmailing and about to fuck—but he did like the fact that there was still some fight in Jennifer. It would make what was to come that much better.

Besides, I have to turn on the cameras. You want video, bitch...you got it.

They entered Peter's home office. There was a sizable wood desk near the center, a black leather chair behind the desk, and behind the chair, against the wall, another desk—loaded with computer equipment.

Jennifer stood back while Peter passed his main desk, moved his chair to the side, and activated his computer system. As the monitor came on, Peter opened a drawer, took out a collection of DVDs, and flipped through it.

"Here it is! Courtesy of James Coltez."

"Show it," he heard Jennifer say hoarsely, behind him.

Peter played the disc. He heard Jennifer draw closer for a better view. It was a long video—a collection of videos, really—and they did not have all night. So Peter set the playback on extreme fast-forward, showing just enough frames to convince Jennifer that it was genuine. Meanwhile, he thought about the new video he was about to make.

A video in which you struggle, Jen, with your feelings as I kiss you in places and in ways the boy scout has never dreamed. In which you squirm, juices flowing down your thighs, as I do anything and everything to your breasts while you are powerless to resist. In which you pant with rising fear and shame but also excitement and lust as my fingers and tongue go to work on your pussy and ass.

"Just a moment, Jen," Peter said excitedly, casting his voice over his shoulder and blocking her view of the screen. He clicked away on his computer, activating the cameras in his bedroom.

A video in which you realize you're going to come. In which tears stream down you face as realize that you want to come. In which you whimper unconvincingly for me to stop but squeeze your breast and pinch your nipple and the animal in you begs me to continue...

"Almost done," he said, turning off the screen before she would see his well-lit bed, waiting for them. "I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to th—"

Suddenly, Peter's vision turned blindingly white. He lurched forward. Pain...pain at the back of his head. He started to turn, when it happened again. He found himself stumbling sideways, towards the corner of the room.

He looked up, but his vision was blurry. There, like a silhouette against a bright background, was Jennifer, holding something in her hands. One of his statues? A wooden box? A lamp? Something else?

He started to speak, when the object—whatever it was—grew larger. It was coming at him, almost in slow motion. Just when he thought to try to dodge it...

Wham!

The next thing Peter knew, he was on his knees. He was bewildered—possibly concussed. He tried to stand up...

When suddenly, he felt unimaginable pain radiating from his groin.

* * *

Jennifer put everything into it.

All those lunges, lifts, and other exercises she'd done to keep her legs toned. The self-defense classes she'd once taken. Even a little flair learned from watching all the little "karate kids" at school, showing off their moves.

She put all that into it and more. Pride and vanity had been her undoing with James, but with Peter once again they were her salvation. She channeled those vices, now virtues, into kinetic energy. Every muscle in her body was charged with her humiliation at having had to dress like a tart for Peter, sit attentively through his obnoxious dinner talk, eat his heartless food, drink his poisonous wine, and endure his hand on her thigh.

She put all that into it, and more still. All the adrenaline, nervousness and fear at the wine bar that had caused her body to tremble, her nipples to harden and her inner thighs to perspire as she feared Peter would try to take her right there. All the anxiety and tension, as her hands had crept up the counter, reaching for the wine bottle...to use, if necessary, as a weapon.

She put all that into it, and most of all, her anger, shame, and pain over what had become of her life, thanks to this despicable man.

As Peter kneeled before her, his head swimming, Jennifer put it all into her kick, which she aimed squarely at his groin. The hard, pointed toe of her shoe bored deep. Peter squealed and recoiled, but amazingly he did not collapse.

So, Jennifer swiveled back, summoned up all her energy—and kicked him again. Harder.

This time, Peter Wombert went down like the sack of shit that he was. On his way down, his head hit the side of his desk with a thud. Curling into a fetal position on the floor, he twitched, shrieked, and coughed.

Up until the scene at the wine bar, Jennifer had hoped she could talk her way out of the situation or just stand firm and watch Peter cave as he'd always done. But as he'd started to molest her, she'd realized how he'd changed. He was too far gone for reason or resolve to save her. Her only choices were to give in to him...or take him down. If the latter, it would have to be by surprise—and only after he'd revealed the DVD.

The DVD...

Jennifer stepped over Peter, who was still retching, and went to the computer desk. She looked at other DVDs in his collection and spread them out. All the names...women's names...it dawned on her what Peter had been doing, just before she'd brained him. Suddenly, Peter seemed to qualify for an even lower level of Hell, if he'd not been at the bottom already.

Jennifer ejected the DVD in Peter's computer and studied the label:

CHANCEY, J. - #138

She'd known for some time that James Coltez had been a fraud, but seeing her name—with a number next to it—shocked her all over again. How many "files" had James had? Was that the meaning of the number?

Well, James didn't "have" me.

"And neither will you," she said to Peter, threateningly. Meekly, he attempted to retreat; but disoriented, he only backed himself into the corner. Jennifer frowned in utter disdain.

Mike never saw you coming. He tolerated you all those years, and look at what you did to him. Well, once again, Peter, you never saw me coming. And you should have stuck to blackmail. Were you trying to seduce me there, for a while, before you lost control? Do you think I could be so horny and mindless that after fifteen years of feeling nothing for you, I could suddenly want you?

"I guess you didn't get the message, that night we played that trick on James," Jennifer said as Peter cowered below her. "So listen up. You disgust me. I told you then to get out of my car; now I'm telling you to get out of my life."

Jennifer launched another vicious kick into Peter's groin. Succumbing to the pain, he blacked out and crumpled.

That awful night—Black Sunday—I was afraid what Mike would do if I told him about you, Peter. So I didn't tell Mike—to protect him, and us, not you. But not telling Mike gave you the leverage to bring me here tonight. How ironic that I've now done what I was afraid Mike would do to you. Only difference is, in the meantime, I've probably lost Mike...

As the adrenaline started to fade, Jennifer felt the crushing weight of the danger in which she'd put herself this night. Then, she felt cold dread as she remembered what Peter had alleged about Mike's whereabouts. Had Peter just been messing with her?

But to mention that whore, Collette, of all people. And the address: that was correct. I remember it from Bobby's birthday party.

Jennifer fled the room, flew down the hall and the stairs, and rocketed out of Peter's house. He lived in a tony suburb, far out on the other side of town from Jennifer's—and Collette's—neighborhood. Jennifer drove fast, but still, it took forty-five minutes to arrive at 512 Cottonwood Avenue.

Jennifer's heart sank. Mike's car was parked outside. For once, Peter had not lied.

* * *

Collette heard a knock on her door. She rose out of bed, as quietly as she could, and made her way quickly downstairs before the knocking got any worse. Mike had earned some sleep—and it wouldn't do for the boys to be woken, either.

Collette's hair and makeup were in shambles. She was hardly dressed to receive company. But whoever was knocking on her door was in for a surprise; that person had picked the wrong night to disturb Collette Davis. She felt better, stronger, more alive than she had in many years.

Reaching the front door and staring through the peephole, Collette saw a woman standing on her porch. Collette turned on the porch light and looked again. For a moment, she wondered if she should wake Mike.

No. I've relied on men too often, for too long. It's time I stood up for myself.

Collette opened the door. "Hello, Jennifer."

Jennifer revved up like a buzz saw.

"Don't you 'hello' me, you tramp! What's the matter, you ran out of losers and decided to move upscale? You know, I only believed half of what I'd heard about you, but obviously that was too kind!"

"That's enough, Jennifer," Collette said calmly, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door, most of the way, behind her.

"Enough? I'll tell you what's enough. You've had enough of my husband!"

Jennifer tried to push her way past Collette and into the house, but Collette stood firm.

"Out of my way, or I'll start screaming," Jennifer threatened, staring daggers at Collette.

Collette remembered the day that Mike had brought Bobby home after school. How Mike had stood, right about where Jennifer was standing, as Collette had gotten hysterical. How he'd been so kind, so patient.

Suddenly, Collette wasn't so offended, personally, by Jennifer's attitude. She was offended for Mike. How could Jennifer stand there, making demands, after what she'd done to him...

"Jennifer," Collette said sternly, parrying Jennifer's daggers with swords and spears.

"Pull yourself together before I call the police and have them drag your cheating ass away from my home!"

* * *

Jennifer felt like she'd been slapped, hard. She recoiled, as Collette continued.

"You have a lot of nerve, Jennifer. Where have you been tonight? You don't look very...composed. Nice shoes...'fuck me' shoes, am I right?"

Following Collette's eyes, Jennifer looked down at her feet and shuffled. As she did so, her coat—which she had hastily and only loosely wrapped around her—came open. Collette stared at her.

"Nice short dress, too, Jennifer, and...good lord, are you not wearing a bra?"

Collette stepped closer to Jennifer to have a look but then seemed to notice something else. She inhaled sharply and shook her head in disgust.

"Alcohol on your breath, Jennifer? Maybe with tramps, it takes one to know one. Well, I used to be a tramp, and I'd say you fit the bill pretty well right now."

Jennifer wanted to fire back, to say something spunky, but she was in shock. This was not the Collette Davis she expected. While Jennifer hesitated, Collette's words sank in, and she realized how things must have seemed.

And she's not far off. I spent the evening at the home of a man who is not my husband. He had his hands all over me. No bra? I'm not even wearing panties right now.

Jennifer looked back at Collette. She didn't see a disheveled, blonde tart. Instead, she saw a strong woman, barring the gates to her home, fending off an intruder. Protecting her son. Protecting...

Her man. What did I do to protect Mike, at the gym? What did I do to protect Mike, at the hospital? What did I do to protect Mike, when James invited me to his apartment? When...when...

Jennifer remembered her nightmare of a week ago; a nightmare that had now seemed to have come true. Then, Jennifer recalled something Mike had said to her earlier this very day, in her classroom. The last words Mike had spoken, before he'd left.

"If that's what you want now...if he's who you want now...or someone like him...I won't stand in your way."

Jennifer now had the whole video from James' apartment, but what would it change? It might help Mike in some ways, but it would hurt him in others. Besides, the police probably were looking for her. She was probably going to jail for nearly killing Peter. Indeed, maybe Peter was dead.

Defeated, Jennifer turned and began to walk away.

* * *

Watching Jennifer, Collette thought again about the scene on her porch when Mike had brought Bobby home. Instead of turning away in disgust, he'd given her a chance, comforted her, and perhaps saved her life.

Collette also remembered the thoughts that had almost stopped her from putting a move on Mike in the kitchen. Thoughts of Richard, another woman...and a broken home. Those thoughts hadn't been stayed her hand then, but now...

"Jennifer," she said softly. Jennifer kept walking down the stairs.

"Jennifer!" she repeated, more loudly. At the bottom of the porch steps, Jennifer stopped.

"Jennifer...I'm sorry I was rude. Please come inside. We need to talk...but first, I need to show you something."

* * *

Like a chastised but now obedient dog, Jennifer turned and climbed the porch steps. Collette opened the door, and wordlessly, they went inside. Collette gestured towards the stairs. For the second time this evening, Jennifer ascended a stairway, fearing that what little was left of her world was about to end.

She wants to show me how it is and how it's going to be from now on. No video for me, delivered in an envelope! No, I'm going to see this live, up close and in person. Mike, in Collette's bed...her scent all over him...

They reached the top of the stairs. Bobby's bedroom was nearby, but Collette's was down the hall. Jennifer felt Kubrick's influence again; she braced herself for another horrific walk down a haunted, distorted corridor. She waited only for Collette to lead the way.

But Collette's feet did not move. Instead, Collette grasped the knob of the door to Bobby's room. Slowly, quietly, she turned it and opened the door. With a nod of her head, she directed Jennifer to look inside.

Jennifer stepped forward and peered into the room. The first thing she saw, by the light from the hall, was Bobby, sleeping in his bed. Then, looking down, she saw Mikey, on the floor in a sleeping bag.

Just minutes ago, the thought of Mikey sleeping in this house—the thought of Mike bringing him here to sleep—had driven her mad. Now, however, all she felt was love. Love for her child. Love for Bobby, too. Love for all children.

She was about to turn away, resigned to what awaited her down the hall, when she heard a sound in the room. Not Bobby; not Mikey; yet a child's sound, in some way. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she stepped back into the room and peered around the door.

On the floor, she saw another sleeping bag: adult-sized, and full. She couldn't make out much of its occupant—just a head of hair, really—but it was more than enough by which to recognize him. Jennifer brought her hands to her face and gasped as tears welled up in her eyes.

They're all children, deep down. Men...

We love their manliness, their strength, their courage, their force. We love all those things...but like mothers, we also love the little boy within. The little boy they may cover up and hide, but if we're lucky...if we're special...they let us glimpse, now and then—if we're true to them. If they trust us.

When we're untrue, when we breach their trust...we don't just hurt the man. We hurt the child. My god...

I hurt a child.

I've felt so sorry for Mikey, all this time, but he hasn't felt the full brunt—yet—and even when he does, he'll just be collateral damage. I fired the gun at someone else. My first child.

Like dynamite, Jennifer's emotional epiphany obliterated every last edifice she'd erected in her mind since she'd left James' apartment that night. Instead of staring into Bobby's dark room, she found herself gazing inward, at the now-unbound darkness in her subconscious. Suddenly, a truth that had been banished there became illuminated and clear.

I fired...oh god, it's true! James didn't do this. Peter didn't do this.

I did this.

I hurt a child. My first child. The one I vowed to love and cherish...

My vows...what...

That night with James. My vows, my choice. But what if...ohmigod.

It was then that Jennifer experienced her most terrible epiphany. Finally, she grasped everything her "sister" had intimated. Worse than the nature of the damage her adventure with James had done, worse even than how she had caused it to happen, there was...

Ohmigod. Ohmigod...the horror...

Like floodwaters from a collapsing dam, it overwhelmed her. Her knees buckled. She swooned. She would have fallen...had Collette not caught her.

* * *

The next morning—Saturday morning—Mike awoke from the best night of sleep he'd had in two weeks. Opening his eyes and seeing where he was, he felt tremendous relief.

Bobby's room. Not Collette's room...

Gradually it came back to him. Getting another sleeping pad and bag from the car. Setting up a makeshift bed in Bobby's room. He could have slept on the couch...