Making Love Under The Rainbow
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Somewhere Over The Rainbow Ch. 02 free porn video
Susan ponders moving to Kansas to live with an older man that she met online.
Going for long walks alone to talk to herself in the serene, calm beauty that was the country, there was never anyone to talk to but herself anyway. Unless they were out walking their dogs or running by her jogging, few were out walking while enjoying nature. She always thought it strange how so very many people locked themselves away and never leave their houses, especially in the late fall and through the winter until spring. Even though she’s surrounded by people living in homes and condominiums that dot her landscape, she seldom sees any of her neighbors. She’s more apt to see someone driving by her in their car and waving than she is stopping to talk to someone out walking.
People who have jobs are too busy to aimlessly walk the wooded paths behind Hannah’s house. Whether it was imagined or real, there was safety here that she never felt in Boston. Here in Pennsylvania, she could walk anywhere, so long as it wasn’t downtown Harrisburg or any of the big cities, and so long as it wasn’t at night. Walking the wooded paths with the blue sky and puffy clouds overhead and with the forest filled with birds and animals calmed her in the way that no bubble bath or deep tissue massage ever had.
Still feeling trapped without having real freedom, it took her a while to appreciate the beauty of the quiet country over the siren, crime infested, and gridlocked traffic of the city. While walking in the woods, the only things she had to worry about was an occasional bear, snake, or coyote. Seemingly more in tune with nature, she more feared humans than she did animals. There were lots of hawks, an occasional falcon, or a lone eagle but, unless they were protecting their babies, they weren’t known to attack people. Besides, when walking in the woods she usually wore a baseball cap so that they wouldn’t mistake her blonde, messy hair for the straw that they could use to feather their nests.
Keeping to herself at the shelter, a learned skill not forgotten from living with, enduring, and surviving her battered life with her ex, speaking only when spoken to, she kept to herself at Hannah’s house too. Not knowing if it was her nature or because she was a Mennonite or a little of both, Hannah wasn’t much of a conversationalist. She never volunteered any personal information. Something she was unable to do before, keeping her big mouth shut was a skill she learned after being beaten into submission by her ex-husband. He was such a brute and a bastard. Only, now, having given up hope of ever finding a job, instead of talking to herself about finding a job and about her future, financial prospects, she talked to herself about her stories, about her characters, and about her plots.
After living at Hannah’s house and sleeping in her spare bedroom for two years, she finally felt safe for the first time in her life. For the first time in a long time, she was relatively happy. Just as she was when married to Bob, she was always afraid to rock the boat. Expecting Hannah to ask her to leave any day, especially when she first moved in to live with her, it figures, now that she’s comfortable living here and now that she no longer thinks about Hannah asking her to leave, is when she asked her to leave.
An elderly, Mennonite woman, a kind and caring person for her to invite her to stay in her spare bedroom, with one month turning to into two months and one year becoming two years, Hannah was nice but weird, bordering on strange. In the way that some mentally disturbed, young women cut themselves with knives, Hannah routinely picked at her skin with her fingernails. Whenever Susan saw her doing that, unable to watch her mutilate herself, she’d leave the room. A mindless activity that Hannah had obviously done for years to cope with her pain, anger, and frustration, the self-mutilation was disgusting to watch. As if she was hoping they’d get infected, she always had a new sore or a reopened wound somewhere on her short, obese body.
Anytime Susan thought she had emotional issues, she just had to look at Hannah for her to realize how better off she was. From wounds that had been reopened, closed, and reopened again, evidence of those who abused her in the past by her abusing herself in the present, she had scars all over her arms and legs. Unable to wear sleeveless blouses or skirts for fear that she’d be discovered physically harming herself, she always wore long sleeves and pants. Beyond help, too late now that she was too old to care what others thought of her, she’d never willingly seek professional help and Susan knew that it was a sore subject, no pun intended, that she’d never broach with her friend.
Friend? Some friend she is. All she gives her is a place to sleep. She seldom speaks to her. The only place they ever go is to Wal-Mart to buy food and pickup her laundry list of medications at the hospital pharmacy where she works. As if Hannah has put up a brick wall in front of her, there’s never been any real friendship there. As much as Susan tried to be her friend when asking questions about her life and about her past, Hannah rebuffed her by giving her one word answers or not answering her at all.
Obviously what interfered with Hannah being her friend was that she was jealous of her. Obviously what interfered with Hannah being her friend was that she was Mennonite and Susan wasn’t. What should have been a beautiful friendship, two women alone who shared a common thread, sexually abuse, the friendship never blossomed more than that of a religious woman giving a woman in need the use of her spare bedroom and bathroom.
For a woman who has worked two jobs all of her adult life, never married, and never had any children to support, Hannah had a lot of money saved for her retirement. Then when her mother died last year and left her a farm in Lancaster worth several million dollars, she shared the proceeds of that with her three brothers. Now a wealthy woman, Hannah still lived modestly. Still making her own clothes, no one would know that this woman was worth a few million dollars.
Not a very attractive women, Hannah was as short as she was round. Her hair had never seen the inside of a beauty parlor. Never wearing makeup to mask the facial flaws that she could easily hide, she had that pale pallor that the Mennonite and Amish had and that made her wonder if that their lack of color was a sign of inbreeding. It was common in many Mennonite and Amish households for a cousin to marry a cousin or a brother, father, or uncle to have a secret, albeit forbidden sexual affair with his sister, daughter, or niece.
She had big features too, a big nose with a jutting jaw. A hard woman to love, with everyone in America so concentrated on and concerned about beauty, Hannah had too few social skills to help her overcome her plain Jane looks. She didn’t have much of a sense of humor either. Knowing now not to joke with her, too many of her jokes either went over her head, weren’t appreciated, and/or were taken as personal insults. Never the case with her abusing her hostess by being unappreciatively discourteous, many times Hannah felt that Susan was insulting her. Having to defend herself, Susan was forever apologizing to her for hurting her feelings. Also Hannah had a nasty side that was filled with bitter resentment and peppered with unhappiness. Whoever abused her, she’s still paying the price for that now.
It seemed strange to her that a woman who’s profession as a psychiatric nurse and who worked for a psychiatrist would have such mental illness issues. She freely confessed that her boss was first to acknowledge by admitting that psychiatrists were much crazier than their patients. Perhaps with Hannah working so close beside him and with him being a looney bird himself, he couldn’t see the individual trees for the forest. Yet, in the way she harmed herself and in the way she lived, hoarding things and stockpiling things in her room, if it wasn’t for Susa
n cleaning and throwing out the trash, she couldn’t imagine what Hannah’s life would be like and how’d she live after she left.
Even though she didn’t know much about the 65-year-old woman, Hannah wasn’t very forthcoming and/or talkative about her family and about her past. She suspected, from what she said, didn’t say, did or didn’t do, that she had been sexually abused by her brothers and possibly by others, perhaps by her father, uncles, and/or cousins. Sexual abuse is rampant worldwide and more so in closed communities, especially in the Amish and Mennonite households.
Especially during those long, lonely, cold winters on a farm where the next neighbor lives a few miles away, with no one able to hear the screams, who knew what went on behind a closed, barn door. No one talked about sexual abuse either but for in hushed whispers. With victims relegated to silence and abusers not wanting anyone to know what they’ve done and routinely do to their womenfolk, it was a perfect storm for a victim to be abused by an abuser and to remain quiet about all that happened.
Moreover, as if they have the word victim written on their forehead in the way that Hawthorne emblazoned Hestor Prynne with the scarlet letter, as was with Susan, those who are so emotionally, physically, and sexually abused always have more than one abuser. The predators somehow that they are an easy target, especially when their pickings are slim and especially when there’s no one around to see. With Susan being a survivor of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse herself, she had that horrific experience and that never forgotten trauma in common with Hannah. Only, never seeking psychological help, Hannah never talked about what happened to her. As her friend, Susan couldn’t help her if she didn’t ask for her help or even talk about what happened to her. No doubt, harboring all the guilt in blaming herself for what men did to her, obviously she felt that the emotional, physical, and/or sexual abuse was all of her fault.
* * * * *
She had been living there on a farm in rural Pennsylvania for two years, long enough to know how totally different Mennonite women are from her. Other than to those who she said hi and good-bye to and who worked the farms around her and who sold their fruits and vegetables to tourists at farm stands, she didn’t know any Mennonite men. Although the Mennonites were friendly enough, as if there was a stone barrier put in place and an impenetrable brick wall, they were standoffish but not as standoffish as were the Amish. Totally unapproachable, speaking only when spoken to, the Amish seemed impossible to get to know unless, of course, the one wanting to know them was Amish too.
Whether they were Mennonite or Amish, especially the older members of their closed communities, both had expressionless eyes and emotionless faces that were difficult for her to read. They had the same dead eyes and stone cold faces that people have when they’ve been held against their wills and forced to do things that they didn’t want to do. Seemingly, as an outsider looking in, with all of them dressing alike and looking alike, their entire lives seemed forced and predetermined. None of them seemed truly happy in the way that others are allowed to have more control of their own lives.
Never spending a dollar for any doodads, which is what Hannah called anything store bought, especially anything that was an unnecessary luxury, she made her own clothes and fixed and reused whatever was broken. Sparsely and spartanly decorated, many of the furnishings in her home were handed down from her mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. Even around the holidays, excluded from their fun, her Mennonite family and friends never included her in any of their holiday activities or invited her to their homes. They looked at her as if she was a foreigner in her own country and compared to how they acted, talked, and lived, she felt as if she was. Only, she always felt prejudged without having been given the chance to defend herself and/or to change their mindsets about her.
Having moved to Pennsylvania from Massachusetts to live with her mother two summers ago, she had just finalized her divorce from her ex. Always wanting a child, she was sadly depressed when her husband finally told her in the heat of an argument that he had a vasectomy while they were engaged, just before they were married. Something he should have told her before they married, he didn’t. Not even willing to discuss having children, obviously he didn’t want children even though she did.
Perhaps the reason why he didn’t tell her he had the vasectomy, a deal breaker, was because he knew that she wouldn’t have married him. Children were as much a part of her getting married as was falling in love. She had this need to raise a child in the way that a child should be raised without suffering physical and emotional abuse and enduring sexual trauma. She would have made for a loving mother.
Yet, such a horrible shame, even though he knew full well that he couldn’t and continuing the sham by engaging her in conversation about their unborn baby, he had sex with her morning and night on the pretense of trying to impregnate her. Then, after her divorce, when she lost her job to downsizing and was unable to find another, unable to afford her rent, her mother invited her to live with her. Figuring a fresh start somewhere else would be the best thing for her, she was tired of running into the same people who asked her the same questions about her non-existent job and/or her asshole ex-husband anyway.
Now away from everything familiar, out here in the middle of nowhere, a place where she couldn’t walk to access public transportation, trapped here, and as if living and sequestered away in the government’s witness protection program, no one knows her, not even the mailman. Yet, living here introspectively in the way that she’s lived and needed to live to heal, as if she lived in a convent without any interruptions to distract her from writing, she learned a lot about herself.
A survivor, she learned that she’s a strong woman. With all the writing she’s done while alone in her room, she learned that she was very creative and prolific. With writing a lifelong apprenticeship, she learned that she got better at her craft with every story she wrote. She learned how much serenely more beautiful the country was over the city. No doubt living here, as if living in an asylum, has saved her life.
* * * * *
Tragically enough, she moved to the Hershey area to live with her mother in time for the biggest flood they had in the history of the Susquehanna River. Their small basement apartment had water to the ceiling. With the river flooding 30 feet over flood stage, the water was up to the second floor of her apartment building. Fast food restaurants downtown had water up to their roofs and had to be leveled and rebuilt. The Hershey Zoo had water buffalos submerged underwater and, unable to save them, the most humane thing to do, they shot them.
With entire neighborhoods of people homeless, three people died in the flood, one was a firefighter trying to save an elderly man who was trapped upside down in his car. Both were swept away. She was lucky that she wasn’t home at the time of the flood. At the time of the flood, she was on the way to the doctor for her mother’s appointment. Driving her mother, her mother’s car survived the flood but her twelve-year-old car, parked in the parking lot, didn’t.
Nothing was salvageable. To make their personal situations even worse, the police and firemen wouldn’t allow residents back in their homes until the buildings were inspected. A three week process, their possessions floated in a pool of water contaminated with home heating oil, raw sewage, and mold. The Red Cross put her up in a shelter, but with her mother never at a loss for a man, and not extending her an invitation, her mother went to live with a man she had just met. Maybe if she could be more like her mother, a who
re, she’d have a man taking care of her financially and giving her a permanent place to live. Always looking much younger than her age, looking sixty-something instead of seventy-something, her mother still looked good and dressed provocatively sexy enough to attract younger men, men who would financially take care of her in exchange for sex.
Truth be told, figuring she’d find a job, get her own apartment, and get her life back, she never thought she’d be living in Hannah’s house for as long as she’s been living there. Now that Hannah has asked her to leave her house, her new reality and having grown accustom to living here, she never thought about leaving. Still hiding out from her abusively violent ex, a dirty Boston cop, and still afraid, she was comfortable living within the safety of her small room. With her mail going to her Post Office Box, but for a few of Hannah’s Mennonite relatives and friends, no one knew she lived there, not even the mailman, not her whore of a mother, not her perversely perverted, incestuous brothers, and especially not her angry ex-husband who threatened to kill her for divorcing him.
She thought she had a good relationship with Hannah. She cleaned and maintained Hannah’s house while she worked at the hospital. Even though she cooked some of Hannah’s meals, she seldom invited Susan to dine with her. For the most of her day, she stayed in her room writing her stories with pen to paper until she could have computer access to write them and submit them to Literotica. With the computer located in Hannah’s bedroom, the only time she could use the computer was whenever Hannah wasn’t home. If Hannah ever knew that she wrote was erotic and about sex, she’d throw her out of her house.
* * * * *
A time when she was employed and had money to waste, she never thought she could live without having a job, without having money, without owning a car, and/or without endlessly talking on her cell phone. It took her quite a long while to realize that the only thing she couldn’t do without was her computer, so needed for her to write her stories. Able to use Hannah’s computer whenever she wasn’t home, but now with Hannah retired, always under foot, and no longer working at the hospital, inevitably, she knew that their strange living arrangement would soon come to an end.
Only where would she go without money and without a job? Even after being unemployed for so long, there were still no jobs, just broken promises from both sides of the aisle from Bush to Obama. With employers waiting to hire once the recession hit and still waiting until after the presidential elections, she waited while perusing job ads online and in the newspaper while hoping for someone to do something about the bad economy. Yet politicians were always more concerned with themselves and with other things than to help the poor people of their own country with jobs.
Understandably and undeniably, there was no money in it for them to get people back to work. There was more money in it for them to ship the manufacturing, along with the high paying jobs overseas. There was more money in it for them to solicit profitable employers for campaign contributions and cushy jobs for their relatives and friends than there was in getting the average American back to work. All about money, the economy was about those who had money and those who didn’t.
In hindsight, something that made her cringe, maybe if she had encouraged Hannah’s stares, she wouldn’t be leaving here now. Maybe had she showed Hannah some skin, she wouldn’t have asked her to leave but invited her to stay? Hannah was always staring at her and leering at her. Undressing her with her eyes, she never figured Hannah for a lesbian but now she wondered if she was lesbian but, because she was a Mennonite, was afraid to venture out from her protective closet. After all the sexually abuse that Hannah no doubt suffered at the hands of her menfolk, it figures that she’d have some sort of sexual peccadillo.
Tamera
- 03.02.2021
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