Finding My Femininity A Journey of Self Discovery and Love
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Sorrel’s Long Journey To Love Ch. 05 free porn video
Chapter Five
A Pink Room
Mary called out to the kitchen where Fletcher was reading the morning paper. It was early. ‘Fletcher, it’s the telephone. Pearce Vasquels is on the line.’
Fletcher reached for the telephone and answered, ‘Hello?’
From the other line Pearce responded, ‘Fletcher. Good morning. Yes, this is Pearce. How is everyone? I hope you and your house guest are doing well?’
Fletcher had a hunch as to what was coming, ‘Oh, we’re doing pretty well. I’ve got her under control. She’s been helping out around the house, you know working in the kitchen, shopping with Mary, and some off hand odd jobs.’
Then it came, ‘That’s what I wanted to call you about. Collette and I had plans this evening, but we just got word our regular baby sitter had taken ill. Then Collette recalled you had Sorrel. We wondered, if it wasn’t inconvenient, maybe you could lend out Sorrel for the evening.’
There wasn’t anything Fletcher could say except yes, ‘Sure Pearce. I don’t see why the girl can’t be of some use to someone other than me. When do you want her?’ On the other end of the phone he heard 7:30, ‘Sure.’ He said, ‘I’ll have her at your house at 7:30.’
By the time the phone conversation had ended Mary had gotten downstairs, ‘So what was that all about?’
Fletcher told her, ‘Pearce and Collette want to borrow Sorrel for a baby-sitting job tonight. It seems they have plans and their regular sitter is unavailable.’
Mary quipped, ‘They want a sitter for that psychotic little hellion? He’s old enough to take care of himself.’
Fletcher answered, ‘Well that’s what they want, and we’re not in a position to say no.
‘Does Sorrel know about the little monster?’ asked Mary.
‘I think so. Anyway, we have all afternoon to tell her.’
Sorrel had just reached the kitchen. She swept in wearing crisp blue blouse and tan culottes. Her hair was up in its usual bun. This morning she’d threaded a small piece of red ribbon through it. She had on a pair of stockings that just reached her knees, and some kind of relaxed fit suede or something shoes. She had started to feel like she was home. She asked, ‘Tell me what?’
‘Nothing.’ Mary proffered.
Fletcher glanced up. Oh. No. He thought. Every time he saw her since their date he felt self-conscious. Why did she always have to look so pretty? Doesn’t she ever look frumpy? Fletcher answered her question, ‘Pearce and Collette are going out tonight and wanted you to baby sit for them.’
Sorrel looked at Fletcher, ‘Am I?’
Fletcher gave a shrug, ‘We don’t have much choice. The Vasquels’s are part of the group. They call. You go.’
Sorrel slumped down a little, ‘When am I supposed to be there?’
Fletcher, ‘7:30, I’ll take you over.’
Sorrel started to speak but Fletcher held up hid hand, ‘I know I know. You’ve been driving all over the place, but no one knows. They all think you’re under some kind of house arrest. Let’s not disabuse them of their misconceptions. I’ll take you over, drop you off, and I’ll pick you up when they get back. It’ll be an easy deal. One and done.’ He smiled and added, ‘Heck. If they get home early we can go out and get a soda or something.’
Sorrel smiled at the thought of a late evening soda with Fletcher. She was starting to tolerate his company. Then she said, ‘I know Flail. He’s a reckless young man. He’s also too old to be baby sat.’
Fletcher knew where she was headed, ‘He’s a little creep. He’s gotten several girls in trouble. His parents have had to bail him out of several serious altercations. Everyone knows he’s not trustworthy. Further. I don’t trust his parents, at least socially. Collette has some interesting sexual proclivities, and Pearce, well Pearce, is who he is.’
Not wanting to comment any further Fletcher returned to his coffee and the morning paper.
Mary got her cup of coffee and went outside.
Sorrel wanted to keep talking, but Fletcher had his head still buried in the paper and didn’t seem very communicative.
Sorrel interrupted anyway, ‘What should I wear?’
Fletcher looked up, ‘What do you mean? What should you wear? Wear whatever you want.’
‘I meant. What if the Vasquels’s know about Florence and the clothing she bought for me?’
Fletcher put the paper down, ‘Oh shit. Go get Mary to help you.’
Sorrel responded coyly. Giving Fletcher a sheepish smile, ‘You won’t help?’
Fletcher slapped the paper down on the table, ‘Come on. Let’s go pick something out.’
Sorrel smiled cheerily, ‘OK.’
Together the two traveled the distance down the hall to the stairs, up the steps, all the way to the top floor, and into the dreaded pink room. This was Fletcher’s first visit to the room Florence had fixed up. The pervasive pinkness of the room was sickening. He flopped into one of the chairs, ‘OK. Pick something out.’
Sorrel walked daintily over to where Fletcher was sitting. She knelt beside him, placing her left hand on his right knee. She gave him her best ‘fawn eyed’ look, ‘I thought, maybe you’d pick something.’
Fletcher was feeling the heat from her left hand. He hadn’t been with a woman since his wife had died. That was over two years now. It wasn’t because he didn’t want a woman, it was more out of loyalty to his deceased wife. He’d loved her desperately, and somehow, sex with another woman didn’t seem right.
He could feel his pulse quicken and his long dormant manhood was starting to show serious signs of life. He looked down at her. God she was beautiful. She was stunning in that blue blouse and those tan pants. Her hair, her hair, he’d like to wrap his hands in it, and pull her against him.
Shit, he thought. She knows exactly what she’s doing. He jumped out of the chair and walked to the large walk in closet where the ‘Florence selected’ outfits were. He went in. Christ he thought, so much pink. He wondered what had been on Ms. Henderson’s mind when she chose all this stuff. It all looked the same to him, and all of it ugly. He decided she couldn’t wear any of it.
He returned to re-enter the bedroom.
She was standing there blocking the closet doorway.
He started to speak, ‘I, this stuff.’ ‘You can’t’
Sorrel walked the three paces that separated them, leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It wasn’t a sexual kiss. No, it was too tender, too warm, too delicate a kiss to be called sexual.
Fletcher was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to grab her, but he dare not. He was a frozen block of ice, a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car deep in the forest at midnight.
Then before he had a chance to say or do anything she slipped away. She looked at him with the expression of someone who’d just been saved from something quite awful, something quite harrowing. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and then she was gone.
Fletcher got Byron on the cell phone, ‘Byron. Today I want everything in that fourth floor room taken out and burned. Every stick of furniture, every article of clothing, all of it, I want it all gone. Then I want you and Mary to search every room in the house, ransack every room, every closet. Gather every single piece of pink clothing you can find. I don’t care in whose room you find it. Get it all, then burn it. Burn it all.’
His next phone went out to Ms. Henderson. All he got was her answering machine. The message he left was crisp and clear. ‘Florence I stripped that horrid fourth floor room bare. From today forward everything Sorrel wears will be of her own choosing.’
Then he got Mary on her cell. She answered right away, ‘Sorrel doesn’t go out until 7:30. Would you be an angel and take her shopping. Only the best stores, let her buy anything, and everything she wants.’
Mary answered. ‘You know she all her own stuff here already.’
‘I don’t care. I want her to go on a shopping binge. I’m sick of the crue
lty.’
Mary quipped, ‘Are you sure this is just about cruelty and not about someone’s innocence?’
Fletcher growled into his phone, ‘No!’ Then after a brief pause, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Sorrel Meets Marion
A little later that very morning Fletcher’s children got home. He had three. There was fifteen year old Marion, and two boys, Richard fourteen and Robert twelve.
The two boys, or better to say fledgling athletes, were tall, lean, and well muscled. It was that time of the year when spring sports like baseball and lacrosse were uppermost. Both were avid lacrosse players. As soon as they reached the house, not even bothering with introductions they jumped in Byron’s car, which then sped them off to the nearby athletic field where all their friends were prepping for the upcoming season.
The girl, Marion, was going to be a tall woman, like her father. She, already had the makings of a statuesque beauty. She was long of limb with a lithe lean well-proportioned body. Her long black hair flowed freely down the back of her rugby shirt, and her pleated shorts, white knee high socks, and sport shoes served to accentuate her good health and natural grace. The girl had vivid hazel eyes, and classic patrician features, a long aquiline nose, sunken cheekbones, and prominent chin. A good first impression was to conjure the cool Roman Moon Goddess Diana dashing across the midnight sky, armed with bow and quiver filled with arrows in search of another innocent male heart to break.
That was the look. The personality was the obverse. Marion was a vivacious, flirtatious, outgoing, warm young woman. Everyone who met her loved her, and she never failed to find and bring out the best in all the people she met.
Marion crashed through the front door and raced for the kitchen. Eschewing coffee, she swung open the refrigerator looking for a suitable drink. Grasping a gallon jug of orange juice she poured herself a hearty helping. She greedily consumed the juice, gulping as though it were her last chance to savor its ambrosial delights.
She bellowed, ‘Is anyone home?’ She was looking for someone, anyone, to talk to. The previous several days had been an exciting time, and she wanted to share her joys with any and all available ears. She was irrepressible!
Unfortunately, neither Fletcher nor Mary was about, but Sorrel was upstairs and heard the clamor. She came down to see what was going on. Hearing noise in the kitchen, that’s where she went.
Marion looked up, not immediately recognizing the woman she asked in her typical forthright style, ‘Who are you?’
Sorrel gave the younger girl a curious look and recognized her as Fletcher’s daughter, ‘Hi. I’m Sorrel.’
Marion remembered her name, ‘Oh. You’re the woman I’m not supposed to meet.’ She grinned and walked over with an outstretched hand, ‘I’m Marion, you’re here with my father. Tell me, what did you do that was so bad that I and the boys aren’t supposed to get near you?’ Never to be denied she continued laughingly, ‘You have AIDS or something?’
Sorrel took her hand, and was given a vigorous shake, ‘No. I don’t have any diseases, but I better not say anything. Let’s let your father explain what he thinks you need to know.’
Marion opened the cupboard and pulled out a second glass, ‘Here. Sit down. Join me in a glass of juice you can tell me what I am allowed to know.’ Marion sat down and started pouring Sorrel a large glass of the orange juice.
As Sorrel joined her at the table she wondered how such a self-actualized, effervescent, buoyant, loquacious child could possibly be the offspring of the staid ultra-sensible man who was her father. Sorrel started to talk, ‘Until Saturday I worked for your uncle and your father at the corporation. Since then my circumstances have changed, though exactly how I’d rather not say.’
Marion changed the subject, ‘You like my father?’
Being careful but truthful Sorrel replied, ‘Honestly? Not a lot. We have some serious differences.’
Marion jumped in, ‘I don’t like him sometimes either.’ Then by way of a possible explanation she jumped again, ‘My mother died two years ago. My Dad’s had a hard time.’
Sorrel wasn’t sure what to say next but she got out. ‘I doubt if that has much to do with the lack of conviviality between he and I’
Marion sidetracked her, ‘Have you seen any pictures of my mother?’
‘No. Did she look like you?’ Sorrel was curious about Fletcher’s deceased wife.
Marion answered, ‘Heavens No. She was beautiful! Come on upstairs. I’ll show you some pictures.’
Marion and Sorrel took the back stairs, those that connected the upper floors by way of the kitchen. Sorrel hadn’t noticed the door discreetly hidden behind the table that opened to where they’d been sitting. As they walked up she noted how narrow the steps were the stairs weren’t structurally narrow, they were narrow because there were so many boxes lining the sides.
Most of the boxes were marked. She saw labels like, ‘Barbie and Ken clothes’, and ‘Cabbage Patch Molly’. One larger box they both had to squeeze around was labeled games, and under that heading she noted ‘Candy land’ and ‘Kid’s Scrabble’.
Sorrel noted that while the boxes seemed out of place to her, Marion was oblivious of their presence. It was like these were all her friends, just tucked away for safekeeping.
Along this obscure stairway Sorrel was bearing witness to the childhood of three very innocent young people. She wondered if her little boy and girl had a similar repository. It made her a little sad. It was just another of the things she hadn’t done.
She had to put those things out of her mind. Thoughts like those weren’t good for her. They upset her emotional equilibrium, and she’d had enough grief as it was.
It was a short way to Marion’s room. Before she knew it she was sitting on Marion’s bed peering into a photo album. Marion went through her whole family history. Her grandparents, great grandparents, her uncle, Aunt Mildred, her other aunt who lived on the west coast, Marion’s, Richard’s, and Robert’s childhood photos, and finally pictures of Fletcher when she and her brothers were little. Sorrel noticed Marion kept skipping past several pages. She supposed those were pages with pictures Marion didn’t want to share.
For Sorrel the pictures were a kind of revelation. She got a look at a real family, with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends, and a milieu of other people close to the family including Mary, her husband and her two children. She was looking at everything she’d missed as a child. Growing up Sorrel hadn’t thought much about it, but looking at all Marion was showing her she realized how much she’d not had.
After several minutes and dozens of pictures Marion announced, ‘Now I’m going to show you my mother.’ She turned to one of the pages she’d passed over.
Sorrel saw Marion’s mother, Fletcher’s deceased wife. What a shock! She’d been beautiful. More than beautiful she looked like someone out of a fairy tale. There she was, long brownish blond hair, blue eyes, dimpled chin, delicate hands, tiny feet, wearing a long beautiful pearl necklace, and packaged in a soft pastel two piece suit.
Sorrel stared at the picture. The woman in the picture didn’t look precisely like Sorrel, but there was a clear resemblance. The woman in the picture was a little older, but they could have passed for sisters. They both had many of the same physical characteristics, but Sorrel could see a stark difference in other important ways. The woman in the picture was indescribably happy. Even in just a picture, the warmth, the generosity, the graciousness, and the love the woman possessed leaped out at her. Her two dimensional image on an old glossy sheet of paper exuded a thousand fold more life and love than did Sorrel in the flesh. Sorrel looked away, and then at Marion.
Marion stared at Sorrel intently, ‘You never met my mother
.’
‘No. I never did.’
Marion, tilting her head slightly like she was looking for something, ‘I think she would have liked you.’
Sorrel hid from Marion’s gaze by looking back at the picture in the album. This whole experience was making her very uncomfortable. There was a feeling of tightness in her chest she couldn’t explain, ‘Why did you bring me up here and show me this?’
Marion wasn’t put off, ‘You’re not blind. You know why.’
Sorrel stood up, ‘We better go downstairs now.’
Marion closed the album and put it back in the chest at the foot of her bed, ‘Sure.’
As they started out of the room Marion touched Sorrel’s shoulder, ‘Can I ask you one question?’ Sorrel answered, ‘OK.’
Marion rephrased her question, ‘Actually I have two questions.’
Sorrel stood silently and waited.
‘First, why are you so sad?’ Sorrel started to say something, but Marion stopped her. I said two questions, ‘Tell me. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Sorrel felt the blood pounding in her head, she was afraid she was going to faint, ‘Let’s go downstairs. I think I hear your father.’
Marion kept looking at her, but didn’t say anything.
Sorrel felt like her entire inner self was being examined, exposed, studied.
Marion answered, ‘Sure let’s go downstairs.’
Sure enough when they got downstairs they found Fletcher, wearing his customary Tee-shirt and jeans, standing guard at the coffee pot.
Marion skipped across the room and wrapped her arms around her father, causing him to spill his coffee. It dribbled down on his shirt. She leaned up and planted a big smooch on his cheek, ‘How’s it going buster?’
Fletcher answered, ‘Great! How bout you babe?’
Marion kept hugging, ‘I took Sorrel upstairs and showed her some pictures.’
Fletcher, evincing a cautious, maybe tremulous grin, ‘You did?’
Marion bubbled, ‘Yeah. I showed her a picture of Mom too.’
Fletcher stopped smiling. He gazed over at Sorrel. The look was not generous, ‘That was nice.’ He changed the subject, ‘So what are you up to today?’
Marion ignored the question, ‘Aren’t you going to tell me about Sorrel?’
Fletcher lost smile was replaced by a scowl. He speared Sorrel with his eyes, ‘What did she say?’
Marion answered, ‘She didn’t say anything. That’s why I’m asking you.’
Fletcher answered, ‘Well it’s complicated.’ His demeanor flipped from serious to silly. He pinched his daughter’s nose, ‘I don’t want to confuse your fuzzy headed girl’s brain right now.’
Marion knew her father, and she knew when it was time to shift gears, ‘Look.’ She pinched him back and said, ‘I’m going to make you tell me later anyway. Right now I’m going to clean up and change. Then I’m going to the mall and hang out with the girls.’ Before Fletcher could offer any remonstration she was headed out of the kitchen. With a see you later to Sorrel she was gone.
Fletcher called after her, ‘Be careful. Stay away from boys. Take your cell phone!’
He turned to Sorrel. In a not too friendly manner he asked, ‘What did you say to her?’
Sorrel saw the anger in Fletcher’s face, and it frightened her, ‘I didn’t say anything. I only told her I used to work for you and that’s all.
Fletcher was suspicious, ‘You didn’t tell her anything else?’
Sorrel responded a little defensively but mostly out of fear, ‘No. She doesn’t know anything. I told her you and I had some disagreements, but any details she would have to get from you.’
Fletcher, glaring, ‘Good. Make sure you keep it that way. I don’t want my children involved in any of this, and its best that you steer clear of my children as long as you’re here. You understand me?’
Sorrel had been standing. His remarks were like a fist, they shoved her into one of the chairs at the table. She didn’t say anything. She kept her head down concentrating on the juice Marion had poured her.
Fletcher repeated, ‘Do you understand?’
Sorrel kept her eyes focused on the nearly finished glass of juice, ‘I understand.’ He was scaring her. She knew if she didn’t say or do something she’d start crying again. She peered up at him, half afraid he was going to slap her, ‘I didn’t do it. Why won’t you let me prove it?’
Nadine
- 16.12.2020
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