CHAPTER ONE

EACH MAN KILLS THE THING HE LOVES

Once at the hotel, she was once again made awkward. The hotel was really nice, not cheap at all. Even if I wasn't paying for it, having her come here was, once again, too much. She became less comfortable with me again, not saying much, withdrawing into an inward silence. I tried to keep things going with chatting and making jokes. It didn't help much, although a little.

Inside the motel room, we sat on the couch and got comfortable. She relaxed more as we began drinking the red wine first. We talked and drank for almost two hours, and by that time finished both bottles of wine. She told me about past boyfriends, past and current friends, high school, college. I told her the whole process of making my movie, the zine I did with my dad Jean, talked about past girlfriends, friends, my troubles at C.W.F.P.S.J. (although I stayed away from the sexual harassment aspect).

We began making out on the couch and because of all the alcohol we were looser but sloppier. We kissed and kissed, then she stopped and looked at me with that innocent but penetrating stare. I asked if she was hungry or if she wanted to go down to the jacuzzi and she said 'no'. She looked at me with her silent look for a while, then said she did want to take a bath, though.

“With me?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I smiled as we kissed, then we went into the bedroom. On the bed, we continued kissing as our clothes came off. We were clumsy as we did it, but had fun. When we got to our underwear she stopped.

“I want you to see me completely naked for the first time in the bathtub.” she said with a seductive smile.

“That's a nice idea.”

“I'll go in and make the bath and when I'm ready, I'll call you.”

“Okay.” I replied with a happy glow.

“There's just one thing.”

“What's that?”

“I want you to tell me what really happened at that peace activist job you had.”

“Why? It wasn't important.” I said as my heart sank low again.

“Come on. I'm gonna get nude for you.”

“So am I.”

“But I want you to get a little nude with that.” she said with her sweet eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I'll be ready in a couple minutes.”

Shit, I almost said out loud when she went to the bathroom. I could hear her panties and bra ever so gently fall to the floor, and then water spraying down into the bathtub. What was I going to say? Should I tell her the whole story? Be completely up front with her on what went down between me and Charlotte and everyone else?

How would she take it if I explained all the ugliness? Would she understand? Would she judge me? Would she get freaked out by me? Would I seem a creep to her now? Would she want a 'misogynist', 'woman-hater', 'sexual-harasser' as a boyfriend? I had only a couple minutes to decide what to do. I had no idea what to say if I was going to lie. That was one of my big problems in life – I was a horrible liar. I could never be a con. ... So I chose to tell her the truth.

“I'm ready, sexy man.” she said with her lovely voice, calling from the bathtub.

I got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom, where I saw her in all her naked beauty ... there she was, my angel ... there she was, no underwear, no bra, nothing at all but her soul and her flesh ... her divine skin exposed in hot water, her sweet eyes looking at me with utter expectation ... her breasts, her hips, ass, legs and now, the first time for me to see, her fresh, young, delicious pussy ... underwater ... all waiting for me ...

“You like what you see?” she asked innocently.

“... More than anything in the world ...” I replied, overwhelmed by emotion, near tears. Why did my past have to ruin this moment? It was horrible, heartbreaking, as if there was a sharp, sharp knife twisting around my gut, over and over and over again.

“What's wrong?”

“It's just ... I can't believe how beautiful you are and how precious this moment is ...”

“Come on. Now it's your turn. Take off yours. Lemme see, then come in with me.”

I smiled at her as I took off my underwear and let it drop to the ground. She was disappointed I didn't have a hard-on. There was something wrong with me, she could tell. I gave myself away so easily. I stepped into the tub with her, facing her, my back against the opposite end, our legs entangled. Oh, what a delight to be with her like this, I thought. ... Heaven. Then I realized I had to tell her my past ... I had to put that out ...

She put her foot on my limp, soft prick, rubbing it gently, hoping to make me hard. But it didn't work.

“You don't have to tell me what happened at that place.” she said, knowing that my sudden sadness must have something to do with the peace activist job.

“Well ... now I do.” I responded despondently. “We both know something bad happened. We both know now that if I don't tell you, it'll always be hanging over us ...”

She wished she hadn't asked. She didn't like seeing me with this depression. What could she do? It was too late. I was right. We couldn't retreat now. It would always be a nagging problem in our relationship, that troubled mystery in the back of our minds.

So I told her what happened. The whole story. The entire C.W.F.PS.J melodrama. Like how I often did when opening the doors to my pain, to some painful memory, long ago or recent, the emotions overwhelmed me so much that my body became relaxed, heavy, burdened and unmoving. My eyes would look off into an indefinite place, away from the person I was talking to. I couldn't look at her the whole time we sat in the bathtub as I told the story ... I couldn't look at her once ... not once.

There was no release, no catharsis, when I was done. All I could feel was desolation, as if I destroyed my beautiful romance with her. I obliterated our chance of a great relationship with one stroke of a confession ... I felt the world drop inside me ... she didn't know how to respond. She felt sorry for me but awkward. I seemed so far away, so distant and sad that she didn't know how to reach me.