Gene

This is the dawn of a new century, the Eighteenth. Ah, eighteen. Gene was eighteen when I met him--fresh from school. I remember him that way, not as fragile in appearance. His vibrancy extended my own, since I was only twenty eight at the time. Only, I say. To think of the scandal we could have caused...if anyone had actually known of our unique friendship. After all, Gene was not as prosperous, and could have been called common. I was an unmarried lady of means. How could eight years have passed so quickly? I must stop thinking about the past. I was stronger, and matters were less complicated. How unfair it is, that Gene has lost none of his strength. He has manipulated it into a kind of sophistication that even royalty could envy. After a strong bought of rain, the day is overcast. I have come to see Gene at his prestigious home in the country. However, I know that he has not yet returned from London. I remember the vast and beautiful gardens surrounding his estate. Thus, I seize the opportunity to explore them again. So overcome am I with the new Spring flowers, that the dark gray sky looms unnoticed. Much too soon, the rain begins to fall upon me. I didn't realize how far I had walked through the labyrinth of the garden. There is no where for me to take shelter. Only the slight chance that ahead of me...the distant opening might be near to the house, gives me hope. I take off into a desperate run. I'm not worried that Gene will see me in such disrepair. He will only laugh at my ignorance of the weather. Soon, though much later to my dampened senses, I reach the end of the path and enter a clearing. To my surprise, the road to the house was nearby. At this same time, Gene's coach is arriving, and nearly upon me. As the horses turn with the path of the road, Gene notices me. He lifts himself from the semi-comfort of his seat, and maintains his balance by grasping the lower edge of the door window. Without considering the weather, nor the speed of the coach, he holds his head outside. He yells for the driver to stop, then calls my name. It's as though I'm dreaming, as if the rain which fell on me had actually been sweet wine. My heart is beating too fast. I wonder over the cause--a coming illness...or the sound of his voice, smooth, though with a deep undertone of directness. The coach door suddenly bursts open and, within a moment, his arm is around me--guiding me to dryness and warmth. I try not to lean on him, since some semblance of strength must be maintained. I wouldn't want him to think me so weak as to collapse in his arms. Thankfully, the rain has stopped. I have the desire to explain myself, yet his silence seems to be urging me not to bother. His slight lips appear to be a bit fuller, whenever he smiles--as he is smiling now. Despite myself, I return his expression. We are aristocrats, friends, gossipers, who ever-so-often dream about being lovers. Gently, he assists me into the coach and seats himself beside me. His movements are so unconscious that I am taken aback. I am use to him being conscious of everything, and everyone around him. The grayish-green pool of his eyes miss not even the slightest movement in a room. Though, now we are alone, he is trying to maintain the same demeanor. Normally, I would be not be so conscious of mine, nor of his behavior. When no one else is around, we don't practice the habit of small talk with each other. Our words are chosen carefully. Thus, for this moment, we are blissfully silent. He sighs as I rest my head on his shoulder. I feel him breath deeply, his occasional swallow, and the irregular beating of his heart. I feel the softness of the velvet lapel on his long black coat. I'm moved to sit up and longingly gaze at him. His skin is so much paler, and almost ghostly, against the blackness of his clothes. The length of his fair brown hair reaches his shoulders. Though, I see the whole of his person only briefly, before our eyes fixate on each other. I can almost hear the echo of his careful thoughts. Never mind, they are the same as my own. He is pondering the position in which I have placed him. The illusion of a faint smile is there on his lips. However, the true brightness of delight exudes from his eyes. They continuously glisten...like twilight on the sea as it gently laps against the shore. Our expressions match for a moment. Then, he turns his gaze straight on again. His chest is rising and falling more strongly. I realize a seduction in the coach would be so easy. I would not resist--he knows. Resistance is not the issue. He respects me. I'm not one of those chattering birds or bashful rose buds, who inhabit the court and our frequented circles. I am older, wiser...and married. My husband is a man much older than myself, as old as a father. He is a friend, whom I have known since childhood. Likewise, Gene is quite occupied with his own marriage...to that of a much older, faded debutante. Such older spouses give us a sense of freedom...and tolerance. The ties are loosely bound, but for the need to keep honor and self-respect intact. I know he is having a fleeting, mandatory thought of his wife.... He is devising explanations...for now and for later. A code of decency must be applied, while she is away visiting friends. It is all right, since we have been quite faithful...thus far. I suddenly feel the necessity to sit up and straighten myself in the seat. My heart is beating too fast again. I don't wish to tempt him, or myself, further. However, he does not move, nor even glance at me. Only that faint smile returns to wryly liven up his face. His eyelids lower in an obvious expression of satisfaction. Despite his ease, I feel a sudden chill. I try to shake it off, with a single, boisterous laugh. This time, I will give voice to his silence, or make him say what I'm thinking. He is gazing at me now with that look of playful enticement. Finally, he gives me a wide smile, and a voice. "How brief was their intercourse, she asks?" If I was not use to such words from him, I might have been embarrassed. From the window beside him, the front of the house suddenly comes into my view. I smile at him, contemplating my reply. "So brief, as to have been once...then never more." My words were true, since his dear wife left his side only a few days after their wedding. She had to care for her sister, who had suddenly taken ill. Her situation was not at all humorous, yet the irony didn't pass our attention. How convenient for Gene. As the coach passes through the gates, I see a friendly face beside the road--the gamekeeper, Jacob. He doesn't wave or make any acknowledgment of my friendly expression. Perhaps, it would mean he was forgetting his place. He simply trods on past. My eyes do manage to catch a glimpse of a smile on his lush rose-tinted lips and the slight hardening of his jaw, perhaps due to his restraint. More than once, have I seen him carrying something dead to have it skinned or plucked. He wears the animal's blood with a sense of pride, not unlike the successful fox hunter. Then, he rakes those bloody fingers through the tassels of his short dark brown hair. Oh, I suddenly catch my breath. I must be delirious from the rain to be thinking of this simple man, when my beloved Gene is beside me. ~*~*~*~*~ The coach finally stops as we have arrived. Gene is stepping down the small steps first. As I step down next, he places his hands around my waist. I feel those long fingers tightening around my corset. His eyes are full of mischievous delight--as though we are still playing a game. I suddenly feel like one of those silly girls at the ball--who gasp and raise their fans when Gene passes them. However, their eyes remain fascinated and fixate on him for the rest of the evening. His gentle and carefully coordinated gestures cause them to feel a sensation--that they may be bolder in their lives. He is like the diversely colored parrot in the cage--or from his dress, more like the raven. I am bolder in my life. Gene has the opposite affect upon me. There is no other option for me, but to rest my hands on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, the constriction of my waist causes in me a shortness of breath. Perhaps, I am thinking, the cause is more from the feel of his slight and taught muscles under my fingers. "I am keeping you." I fall into his arms. "You will miss your fencing match with Jared." Ah, Jared, now there is another pleasant thought--far too many for me on this day. Yet, I know, the best is yet to come. I only hope that I can resist him enough. I feel the urge to laugh, to ease this surging desire. Gene is recklessly testing my reserve. At first, in the carriage, I felt him checking himself. Now, I know he feels more at ease at his home. Yet, he is forgetting how servants gossip. Behind closed doors, they speak of their benefactors almost as frequently as he and I...behind closed curtains. Gene releases the clasp of his fingers from around my waist. Finally, my breathing is slowing. I feel the need to break the silence. "I've actually forgotten the reason for my visit." "You need a reason?" He pauses as that familiar expression of awkwardness fills his eyes. Oh, but they are most honest. His lips close tightly, and curve into a brief smile. "Oh? Yes, I have yet to scold you...about neglecting to dress for the weather." "For shame on you.... You steal the advantage." In mock pain, I look away from him to the side. We begin walking down the path to the front of the house. Then, in one motion, as though moving with the rhythm of a dance, he removes his coat and wrests it on my shoulders. As my gaze turns to him, I suddenly begin to slip on one of the shale stones. Then, I feel his arm reach around my back, and the hand grip my shoulder. His other hand is secure on my waist. "You wish to meet the ground with me?" I coyly ask. "I'm afraid that you are more tinder, than cushion." The murmur of his seemingly evil chuckle sounds in my ear. "If necessary," he whispers. Oh, now how I want to touch his fair skin! I want to feel the raised and pulsating veins in his slender arms! I take in one strong breath--through clenched teeth, then release it through my nose. This method allows me to react to him, yet calm myself at the same time. Impulsively, I break from his grasp and stride ahead of him. Just before reaching the door, I turn on him again. "I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright--who are as black as hell, as dark as night." He takes in a breath--once heavily. Then, he replies. "In the middle of opposite ends...there in lies perfection." "That is not Shakespeare." I declare pausing at the doorstep. He is standing very close to me. My back is facing the house. He is not so much taller than me. Yet, his height seems to loom--like that of a giant--over me. His breathing is steady, though forced. "One sonnet alone could not describe you." He pauses, breathing down my throat and warming my chest. "You are the summation of all." I close my eyes. How simple and careless it would be for me to surrender to this passion we are creating. However, as we stand together alone--unseen inside the house, pale brown eyes watch our every movement. ~*~*~*~*~ Suddenly, the doors open, and the butler is addressing Gene with a most humble greeting. He mentions that Jared is waiting in the drawing room. As Gene enters, Jared turns from the window and begins to walk toward him. "How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds--makes deeds ill done." Gene raises his chin and stares at his cousin. His eyes seem void of expression or any emotion at all. He speaks carefully. "King John." He pauses. "Nature teaches beasts to know their friends." Now, his lips begin to curve into a healthy smile. However, this game of words has not so easily beaten Jared. "Coriolanus." Out of acknowledgment, he nods. "Spoken well." He says with a deep and throaty laugh. "He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural." A moment of silence between them is my opportunity to participate. "This month's Twelfth Night is upon us." Jared's eyes descend in a moment of reflection, then immediately gaze up at me. How they sparkle with delight, like none I've seen--save Gene on a good day--perhaps tomorrow. Suddenly, in my mind, I hear a line from Hamlet--Act two, scene two. "Come, give us a taste of your quality." I hear myself speaking the line, and reaching out with outstretched arms to beautiful Jared. He is so fresh and young, that he seems to reflect the sun. Even while basking in the shadow of his darker thoughts, his spirit is eluminating. The half-full glass of brandy by the window reveals to me the cause of Jared's good temperament. Perhaps, I think, it also helps to warm his body. Of course, that is the reason his embrace comforts me like a quilt. "You have come to Fence?" Gene abruptly asks, though does not look at Jared. Instead, he strolls past us toward the window. I know that he would rather Jared leave. Not his eyes, but his very manner reveals it. Part of me would rather he stay. Neither of us have complete control of our faculties on this evening. Jared's appearance has moved us back into our game. When we are alone, we must play off the strength of the other. Experience wears down that strength--far too soon. Most importantly, neither of us want to be the one begging for mercy. "Yes," Jared replies with a sigh that says he is willing to adjust himself to a different mood. "The purpose of my visit is our usual contest. However, you now have a guest." "No, please, you must continue as though I am not here." I find myself pleading. I won't hand myself over to Gene, when I am on the verge of illness--a chill from my damp clothing. "I will rest, so that I may be better company tomorrow." "Yes, of course." Gene moves quickly to my side. Within a moment, he calls upon a maid to attend to my needs. "Please...call for me if you need anything." When the maid and I are walking up the main stairs--I allow myself a stray glance down at him. Oh, what a terrible mistake. His eyes are open wide, and stuck hard upon me. I know that Jared is in store for one of his most difficult boughts ever with Gene. Through the blade, he is going to release his overflowing passions. ~*~*~*~*~ It is now nearly ten o'clock. I am warm under the covers of a vast queen-sized bed. My attention is drawn to the familiar sound of sabers clashing together, and the sharp wind from their palpable misses. Part of me desires to watch the spectacle. Imagining Gene's slender form poised and outstretched is enough to entice me to fall asleep. I can dream of him--perhaps as a fair prince defending his position against a dragon. Meanwhile, the competition is not so loud as to keep my eyelids from closing. I am assuring myself that Gene will be too tired to visit me later this night. ~*~*~*~*~ However..., some hour, not very far from dawn, I find myself awakened by an unbearable warmth. My natural reaction is to push the blanket over to the side of me. Suddenly, I notice a shadow on the lounge in front of the now-dormant fireplace. I shudder. Then, as my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, the shadow's identity is revealed to be Gene. As he stirs, I try to pretend not to have noticed him. Quickly, I turn over onto my side to conceal my face from his view, should he be awake. The heat of my fever is not deterring him from my thoughts. I imagine him covering my body with his own, and taking in my fever like a priest might a demon. The sound of my scream echoes within his throat. He is giving me the kiss of life.... The question of whether I am dreaming enters my mind. Gene's body is unbearably hot against my skin. Suddenly, I gaze down the length of myself as his form rises off of me. His body is glowing bright red in color, as though the sun shown upon him from behind. I struggle to cover my eyes as the rays of light beam from his eyes.... ~*~*~*~*~ I sudden awaken this time to daylight. The dream is over too quickly. Reality is almost too blinding. I see that Gene is no longer lying on the lounge. He is sitting on the edge of the bed--close beside me. This eases my sudden feeling of separation from him. "I have decided, before sickness decides to settle on you further.... Perhaps, your fever is indeed gone." He leans over me and touches the bent fingers of one of his hands to my forehead. I take in a deep breath and smile, turning my head away from him. He smiles too. The expression in his eyes is thoughtful. Still, I see the fire behind their consideration. "Anyhow, as I was about to say.... I should see to your safe return home." Gene says as he straightens himself into a proper sitting position. Then, he slips a few of his well-manicured fingers into his vest pocket. He is in search of a piece of pink paper--a letter, I guess. "Your wife is returning today?" I ask, already suspecting the answer. I disguise my smile with a slight cough. Gene's eyes alone reflect his amusement. He knows that I know him. He doesn't want to have to explain, or conjure up lies to tell her. "The joyous day is tomorrow, according to this letter." He pauses as our eyes meet and linger together for a time. "However," he suddenly is standing, "I regret that I will not be here to greet her. She will understand your need to return to your husband...for comfort." "Yes...she will." I reply, staring at him with much the same expression as he gave me the night before--on the stairs. Suddenly, checking myself, I gaze down, then to him again. "After you have dressed and eaten, we will leave." He grasps the handle to open door and depart. The need to say something more to him, suddenly overcomes me. My desire is to reassure him. "I am feeling much better. I shall not be long." He gazes at me with his usual slight smile as reply. When we understand each other, he needs no words.... By denying me any further, personal, attention, anyone would think me just another guest. I recognize that as Gene's intention. ~*~*~*~*~ Thus, without question, I breakfast alone in the small sitting room adjacent to my bedroom. How strangely the red walls seem to arouse desire in me. On the other hand, it makes perfect sense, since red is the color of our blood--and a word used to describe extreme heat. It is also associated with evil. In short, our evil side heats the blood--when causing extreme desire. As I tap the spoon against my boiled egg, a laugh suddenly escapes from me. Gene is evil...as am I. How many lives have we destroyed out of boredom? Oh, I dare not imagine, unless Gene is with me. It is only part of our game then, harmless in such context. How opportune that I suddenly hear Jared's voice on the other side of the door. He knocks once, then asks if he may enter. The tone of his voice is so vibrant, yet gentle. How impossible it would be for me to turn him away. The latch turns, and he remains standing in the doorway. "Ah," he pauses, "if the measure of thy joy be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more to blazon it, than sweeten with thy breath this neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue unfold the imagined happiness that both receive by this dear encounter." I cannot help but smile and imagine, for the moment, that I am his Juliet. "Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, brags of his substance." I pause as he enters, chuckling under his breath. He bows his head slightly, gazing up at my face at the same moment. He is indicating that I should continue with Juliet's response. "They are but beggars that can count their worth...." Again, I pause as he sits down on the far couch. "Ah, Romeo--I need not ask where for art thou." Now, Jared can no longer resist his overwhelming laughter. His face brightens as, likewise, his eyes appear to darken. "Do I appear to be begging for love?" He coyly asks. "No," I reply seriously. "You deserve an explanation. However, I am feeling particularly evil today. Perhaps, when we meet again...." Jared smiles and stands, accepting my subtle cue to depart. "You will confide to me--your thoughts?" "Yes." My reply, I know, is not questionable to him. Yet, our eyes are lingering upon each other at this moment. I must say something, perhaps suggest a new topic of discussion. "How did you fare in your contest with Gene?" "My cousin was a raving madman." Jared's face is suddenly animated with amazement. "I have three small wounds to prove his dementia." "Oh, I am sorry." My brows lower. I feared Gene would hurt sweet young Jared. "The awkwardness of my arrival must have been the the cause for his lacking duress." "No, my lady." Jared smiles slightly and sighs. "Even if you were the cause, you certainly deserve no blame. Good day to you." "And to you." I reply fighting the desire to stand and give him a hug of reassurance. I could not. He has crossed the line that separates my brotherly feelings for him, from my physical desire. The movements of his lips spoke of his hidden intentions. An involvement with him would be far too dangerous for me--despite the fact that he is unmarried. ~*~*~*~*~ Gene and I meet each other again, at last, at the awaiting carriage. A few hours has given me a chance to renew myself. As before, my confidence places a safe distance between myself and Gene. Thus, I accept little of his assistance inside. We ride together silently for nearly an hour. Gene is sitting opposite from me with his legs crossed. He is dividing his attention between the passing scenery and my face. He seems stoical in manner--occasionally crossing his arms, and resting one of his hands--the thumb and forefinger underneath his chin. His brows lower. Then, he suddenly gazes at me straight on. My lips part against the will of my thoughts--or from another point of view--out of yielding to them. "I feel the chill...." My mouth trembles with each word. Though, before their utterance can echo in my mind, Gene is sitting beside me. "Allow me to block the cold--as I should have last evening." He raises a hand to my face. A few of the gloved fingers touch my cold lips. Instantly, as those fingers start to move downward, I feel the warmth penetrate deeply into my chin and neck. "The chill's cause is far within me." I can barely speak the words. My chest is so heavy with forceful breaths. Unexpectedly, perhaps not really, Gene returns to his seat. He has wrongly deciphered my words as disinterest. I know him. I lov.... He interrupts my thoughts. "We are alone..." I finish his determined plea. "Meaning, we should be truthful." His eyelids lower, as he breaths a sigh of relief. I am acknowledging his desires by reading his thoughts. "Can we be so honest?" My question is but a breath. A slight smirk appears upon his lips, then disappears--as though it was never there at all. Somehow, it seems to allow the escape of a chuckle. Slowly, he eases off the seat, and onto his knees. Grasping my hands, he places them on his chest. "I am warming your chill." I feel the heat emanating from his body, even through my gloves. "I feel you...so close to me." "Yet, there is still a chill?" His question seems more like a statement. He releases my hands, and begins to remove his gloves, his tie, his jacket, his shirt.... "Then, I shall move closer." The weight of his breaths begins to match mine. There is no choice, now is the time. I must remove my clothing in return. He helps me by reaching around my waist, and tugging at the strings of my corset. I cannot help but smile as I find myself kneeling on the floor in front of him. We are pressed so tightly together--his skin against mine. Our clothes, in part, lie scattered on the seats and the floor. We pause to feel the warmth of each other. My chill is no more. Suddenly, as though heaven desires to reveal our liaison, the sun shines inside the window blazing like a roaring fire. My eyes stray down to the slight space between our bodies. As in my dream, there is a bright red color in that place...the reflection of our blood. It seems as though we are physically joined by this light. Our vicious ways have finally consumed us. My Realm My Fiction