"There To Catch Him If He Falls, Part 3"
by Melissa and Cathy
Subject's sexual proclivities warrant further study.
Sometimes after we'd been together, I'd go home to write up my mental notes. It puzzled him a little that I didn't always want to spend the night, but he said remarkably little about it. I used the excuse that I didn't always feel comfortable facing Weaver over breakfast. He protested that we weren't hiding our relationship, but let the matter drop.
Although the sex was wonderful, it was pretty straightforward, and I was hoping for at least a little deviant behavior to write about. I got my chance one night when I was playfully snooping through a box under his bed.
"Handcuffs? John Carter, you are full of surprises," I said, and meant it. A pair of red handcuffs, somehow, wasn't what I expected to find.
"Someone gave them to me a few years back as a Valentine's present."
He didn't face me as he said that, and I knew there was more to the story.
"Girlfriend?"
"You...remember what -- who -- I told you about in the elevator a while back, right?"
"Ross gave you these?" I was both shocked and delighted that he'd kept them. Had he been tempted by Ross' offer after all? "Why keep them?"
"I thought they might get some use one day. You never know who's into that sort of thing." He raised an eyebrow at me questioningly.
"Anyone in mind?"
"Definitely." With that, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, just a little roughly. "I intend to keep you here with me all night, Lucy." He didn't have to tell me twice. I wouldn't miss this for the world.
"So, where do you want me? On the bed, on the floor beside the bed? Or do you want me to--"
"I think you've done enough talking, Lucy. On the bed, on your back."
When I hesitated, he picked me up and put me there. I still wasn't completely sure I liked it, but I was getting quite an adrenaline rush. He ripped -- ripped -- my shirt off, and the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra underneath definitely met with his approval. As he pulled me up to the head of the bed and secured me there, I relaxed. This was play, after all, and I had studied my subject. He wasn't going to hurt me.
"I hope I get a chance to do this next," I said, laughing. He frowned at me, then went to his dresser. The next thing I knew, he'd tied something across my mouth so I couldn't talk. He leaned in close, and whispered, "I said you'd done enough talking, Lucy." I still wasn't afraid. His innate gentleness hadn't disappeared, and that was reassuring.
That was my last conscious thought. He slowly removed the rest of my clothes, lingering with his mouth over the exposed skin, and then began a thorough exploration of my body. I felt his teeth nip lightly at a nipple, then, lightning quick, he transferred his attention to a sensitive spot behind my neck. I couldn't think of anything except the sensations. His fingers probed me delicately; his tongue assaulted me roughly. I writhed beneath him, and would have been begging if I hadn't been prevented from speaking. He was setting me on fire, and I wanted release so badly.
Suddenly, the gag was removed. Gasping, I looked at him. The expression in his eyes told me he was completely caught up in the moment. He kissed me, and I realized that I was aroused by the situation, too, not just by his touch. I wanted to be free of the handcuffs so my hands could touch him, pull him closer, but I also wanted to stay like this -- at his mercy.
He made the decision for me, freeing my hands and allowing me to move him onto his back. As I lowered myself onto him, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to savor the feeling of him being inside me. I was too impatient. As I moved up and down, faster and increasingly harder, I realized he was too. His hands first cupped my breasts, then settled on my hips, urging me on as he thrust upwards to meet me.
I teetered on the very edge of orgasm for what seemed like minutes, but was more likely only seconds, and as I crossed over to release, my gasps became louder. After the last wave slammed though me, I became aware that I was collapsed on John's chest, and that he'd come with the same intensity, and volume. Thank God Weaver wasn't home.
This time, when he asked me to spend the night, I could tell him that I had no intention of leaving.
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Subject exhibits feelings of abandonment
Although I knew that Carter was from Chicago, I didn't pressure him into taking me home to meet his parents. For one thing, I had learned from Carol that his parents were very rarely in the country. His grandparents, however, did live in the Chicago area. Carol described a fairy tale mansion, complete with a portrait of Carter on horseback. While I longed to have a look at that portrait, I didn't press for a tour of the estate. Carter rarely spoke about his parents though. I heard a lot about Barbara, his sister. I heard a lot about Bobby, the older brother who had died from leukemia and had been the inspiration for Carter's medical career. Learning about Bobby made me realize why Carter had been so angry when I messed things up with his attempts to get a young leukemia patient admitted to the hospital. As much as Carter hurt whenever he lost a patient, it cut him to the quick to see a child in pain.
Carter would even talk about his Gamma, as he called his grandmother, and about his grandfather. About how he had been pressured by the old man to give up medicine and join the business world. About how his Gamma had taken him up on it when he told her to keep his trust fund. He truly didn't mind being one of the working poor, that much was obvious. How he managed to find the money to dress well was beyond me, but I didn't press him for details. He could talk about all of that and all of those people, but he didn't talk about his parents. For Mother's Day, he shipped a present to his mother in Thailand. A few days later, as he was getting ready to leave work, she called him. He ended up taking the call at the admit desk, and since it was time for the nursing shifts to change, the area was crowded. It was difficult to not overhear him.
"Mom? You're sounding well. Did you get my present? You did. I see. No, no. There shouldn't be a problem with getting it exchanged." A sadness was beginning to form in his eyes as he listened to his mother.
"You should be able to take care of it when you come home in June. Oh. No. I understand that you guys have obligations, it's just that my girlfriend is throwing me a surprise party for my birthday."
He turned to wink at me, and I turned to glare at Jerry, who raised his hands in his patented "don't blame me" gesture. I went back to listening to John, who was saying, "I hoped you could come. I'm sorry, Mom, but I didn't realize that might be childish. I know you called to talk about the present. Tell you what, why don't you just ship it back to me and I'll exchange it for you? Yes, ma'am, I realize that I don't know what you want, I can get the money back for it. You do have my address, right? Yes, that's it. Yes, I'm still rooming with Doctor Weaver. It's a nice place, Mom. No, I don't have time to talk to Dad right now, Mom, no, don't put him on...hello, Dad. I'm doing fine. Really. I saw Chase the other day and he's doing better. Well, I don't know what Gamma told you, he is doing better. No, sir, I'm not talking back to you, I'm just telling you what I saw while I was there. Right. Dad, there's a trauma coming in now and I really have to go. I'll talk to you later, okay? Tell Mom I love her. Bye."
Carter hung up then pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared down the hallway. I don't think I was the only one to see the tears in his eyes. I was already off from work, so I decided to follow him. It was obvious that even if he didn't want to talk, he needed to have someone with him. As I walked away from the crowded desk, I overheard Romano commenting "At least I'm not as bad as all that." Bastard.
I finally found Carter up on the roof. He was sitting with his back against the wall, tears silently streaming down his face. I handed him a tissue, then sat down beside him.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I know it's stupid, Lucy. But, I keep setting myself up to be knocked down by them. It's been the same for us -- Barb and me--since we were kids. Bobby, too, when he was alive. We used to get together for Father's Day, and for Mother's Day and work on something for them. Did you ever make Mother's Day presents and cards in school?"
"Yeah. My Mom always got a kick out of the cards. She still has them." I could remember how proud and loved I had felt when my Mom would open that construction paper card and ooh and aah over it, telling me it was so perfect.
"They would wrinkle their noses and complain at how the teacher had wasted valuable teaching time to have us make those cards. Then they went in the trash. After awhile, the others stopped trying, but I couldn't seem to. Still can't."
"Did they show their affection in other ways, though? Even if they weren't tactful enough to pretend they liked presents, did they do other things to make up for it?" I suspected what the answer would be, but I asked the question anyway. I was hoping there was a bright side.
"No, but our grandparents made up for that. They were wonderful. They seem intimidating to people who don't know them, but they're real softies." He grinned, no doubt at a pleasant memory of time with his grandparents, but the sadness quickly returned. "We felt like we were nothing but a burden to Mom and Dad. Constantly in their way. Underfoot. Never able to move fast enough or be good enough. And Dad...God...if we got in his way on a bad day, there wasn't anywhere to hide." His voice trailed off, and he looked away.
I had to ask. "Did he get violent?" When John nodded, it was my turn to look away. Despite the warmth of the day, I had a cold feeling in my stomach over what he had revealed. Oh, I was never so naïve that I believed that being rich made a person impervious to abuse. I knew the rich did not live charmed lives. It was a simple fact of life that some people hit their children for no reason. Some of them even killed their children. Rich or poor, that never mattered. All it meant was that the rich could hire expensive lawyers to keep themselves out of jail and their kids out of foster care if they were ever arrested.
I suspected, though, that John's father was never even arrested. "When did it stop?" I asked, sensing that it had, somehow, and wondering what the impetus was.
"After Bobby died, Barbara and I got together and decided that we'd ask to go away to a boarding school. We went to my grandparents and asked them to take care of it. If they suspected why we wanted to leave, they didn't let on. And you know, it was the best thing that could have happened to us. People make fun of how artificial boarding schools are, but it was more real than anything we'd experienced. And when other parents came to see their kids during open days, we saw how normal families behaved. Up until then, we weren't sure that our situation wasn't normal."
Not normal, to say the least. Carter's Dad had hit him. Probably often. That certainly explained the depth of the sadness I often saw in his eyes. And how his eyes could become sad so quickly. "It's good that you're able to talk about it so openly," I volunteered. And it was. So many victims of abuse keep their feelings about it buried.
"Open about it? God, no. I don't tell anyone about this, Lucy. It must be something in that psych training of yours that's forced me to tell you." He smiled at me, eyes twinkling, and I felt a tinge of guilt. It was something he didn't discuss with people, yet I was already planning to make it a feature of my paper. I willed the guilt away -- he'd never know about the paper, after all.
I sensed that he had more to say, that more was bothering him. "So, your Mom doesn't like her present?"
"You guessed that, huh? It's not a good color for her," he said. "I think she's used that line about five times now. That's not as good as the "I'm not really into that style anymore" excuse. That one works for so many different things. And you might have heard, they won't be in town for my birthday. They might call, but I won't be surprised if they don't." He shrugged. "That's what I meant when I said that I keep setting myself up to get knocked down. I just can't let go of the hope that they'll change. They told me that they would be home by the end of May, and I was hoping to see them. I had already asked Kerry for that week off. I really should have known better."
"I could ask for the week off. Just so you won't be lonely, you know."
He smiled. "And you've got a surprise party to finish planning for, so you could use the time?"
I was still annoyed at Jerry -- I was sure it was him -- for letting that slip. "No, I can think of a few other things we could do, if you're game."
He grinned back at me, his eyes still twinkling. I loved the way his eyes did that when he was happy or had something up his sleeve. "I'm game for anything."