Although it was Tara that was the aggressor what she wanted wasn't love, what she wanted was raw sensation. I was to bethe spur for her deadened emotions.
Too excited to think about moral implications, I sat up.
Even scratched, bleeding and stained with sweat, she was the sexiest woman I had ever seen.
"What about you?" I asked.
She sighed, lifted her disheveled hair in her long fingers and shook it. Dust, broken twigs, and shredded leaves rained down upon her. Her voice quavered."I was married."
I was disappointed. "You were?"
She drew a heart on my chest with her finger tip. "If you could call it a marriage."
"What else would you call it?" I asked.
"Why? He was worthless."
"Take your pick."
She turned away.
"Tara, what do you mean?"
Angry eyed she turned on me.
"What do you want from me?" She yelled. "You're not my confessor."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Sorry, I mean he was worthless! In any way you could think of! Worthless! The only good thing about him was that he was rich."
"Yeah, as in zero. I was married to him for 8 Goddamn years. I was just a dumb kid when I married him. The fucking 'Prince Charming I thought."
She shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. her hand smeared her makeup.
"What a God damned foolish little Cinderella I was!"
Why? Everybody makes mistakes. How old were you?"
"Sixteen. He was thirty six." She sniffled. "God! I'm a hag. How old are you?"
"I feel like a cradle robber. She leered at me. "Or maybe I feel like him. Only this time you're the fresh meat."
"What do you mean?"
"Jesus, where you been kid. Don"t you know anything?"
I was silent.
"All right, so I'm a bitch. What can I say?" Her voice trembled."Why don't you punish me."
Her eyes were hot and wild. "Come on. I deserve it. Come on!" She pleaded. "PUNISH ME!"
My eyes blazed.
Her smile was vulturous. "Now you get it. Don't forget it."
"Oh GOD!" She groaned finally and pulled away
"If that son of a bitch had done me once like we just did I'd have put up with anything."
"Why? What did he do instead?"
"When he couldn't get it up, which was most of the time, he shared me with his friends. They were just like him, burned out, jaded- getting weird was all they had. I was the weird doll."
"What do you mean?
Her fingers high she ticked off the stations of her cross.
"I was the show piece. I was the dress up doll. I was the fuck me toy." She sneered. "Whatever. He used me. I don't know how many times he told me that he owned me. After a while I believed him. I was one hell of a slave. He controlled everything: my hair, my clothes, my makeup, the way I walked, how far I spread my legs. I was the weird doll. What a life."
"Why didn't you get away?"
" I did. I divorced him. Finally he went too far. One of his friends nearly killed me with a beer bottle. Now I'm rich. Fuck everybody! It's my party."
She stared at me with fevered eyes. "Want to come along for the ride?"
"I don't know."
"Why not? What else do you have to do?"
"Write my book."
"Listen kid, you've already jumped on my band wagon, why not sit back and enjoy the ride? You've got your whole life to chase butterflies. The way I'm going I'll be lucky to last another couple of years. Just think of this as a full tuition scholarship to Kinky Kollege. You worry about the love part, let me take care of the corruption. I wrote the book."
She shuddered and stared down at her breasts.
We made our base in San Francisco, in the exclusive Sea Cliff section. Her house was a sprawling, antiquated, archetypal Victorian monster built in the late l800's by one of the San Francisco robber barons. It clung, like a gargoyle, to a cliff mid-point between the entrance to San Francisco Bay and the graceful arch of the Golden Gate Bridge.
For a while it was interesting.