Immortalis Caris -- Chapter 4 - Distraction
Immortalis Caris -- Chapter 4
He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He wasn’t superstitious, he didn’t believe in luck, but this kind of coincidence had to be significant . I can’t believe that’s the same person! I’ll be goddamned, meeting her like that!
He took himself back to the first time he had seen her in the window. She’d been wearing a dress, or a robe maybe; the feminine pulchritude he’d imagined was far from the dress and demeanor of the person he’d met tonight. The first time he’d seen her from the roof he’d gotten hard almost instantly. Yeah, well, it doesn’t seem to take much these days, I’m so fucking desperate!
The memory continued to the glimpse of violence he’d seen in the window that night. Some man had grabbed her in anger, possibly hurt her. Is that how she lives? In an abusive relationship? Protectiveness suddenly infused him. Years of abuse from his father had made him selfish, self-protective above all and he wasn’t used to caring what happened to others.
But I care about her, don’t I?
Without conscious volition, he found himself voicing the words aloud. “I care about her.”
When he was younger, he had prayed someone could save him from his father’s daily wrath, but no one had ever rescued him, he had just learned to cope - to suck-up to the jerk, to avoid him, but more often just to take whatever harsh treatment he had to -- to keep the old man from killing him. He couldn’t bear to think this girl was suffering a similar existence.
Tomorrow. I’ll check on her tomorrow.
He’d find a way to see her again. He felt completely sure of this. He started the car.
Restless, so restless. Nothing to do in town, that’s for sure. Can’t go home yet.
Española was a twenty-five minute drive up the 30, off the mesa.
A movie -- that will kill enough time. It would distract him from the undercurrent of obsessive thoughts long enough to resist acting on them. This was the state of mind he most feared. This is when he was the most vulnerable to relapse. Boredom - it was the catalyst to the craving that flowed just under the surface of his clean rehabbed self. Damn! A movie it is.
He stopped at a hole-in-the-wall joint in Espanola for a plate of their specialty: green chili pork posole. He dumped the whole side portion of chipotle salsa into it before he even tasted it. He smiled as he realized he probably only ordered the intense and earthy corn stew as an excuse to gorge on their toe-curling smoky jalapeño salsa. Some like it hot...
As he smoked out front after the meal, he realized the Tex-Mex dive was only a block from the town “adult video” store. He’d already seen everything of interest at the Dreamcatcher multiplex downtown. What the hell… let’s see what’s playing at the porn house…
A porno theater, per se, was an anachronism. These days you could rent almost anything, download almost anything from the internet. There were two tiny box theaters attached to the video store --more like screening rooms than actual theaters -- with about 100 seats each. He was sure they had once shown classics like “Deep Throat” and “Behind the Green Door”, but these days people were more likely to rent adult movies and take them home to the privacy of their in-home theaters. Espanola - like a lot of places in New Mexico - seemed to be stuck in an earlier decade.
One of the two movies they offered was a Japanese “pink” film, so named because the animation-generated censorship marks over the genitals in Japan were colored bubblegum pink. He’d seen one of the Japanese versions, and the hilarious thing was that the dancing pink rectangles missed their marks some of the time, revealing the quite un-shocking nudity beneath. Of course, there were no censor marks when they showed the films outside of Japan. Here in the States, they were considered more “art-house” type films with subtitles, credible plots and decent acting. There was sex, to be sure, but it never seemed as hardcore, never as grubby and tasteless, as American films. It was more voyeuristic, more sensual.
Not a bad choice.
The movie started at 7:00, and he sat down 5 minutes before it started. There were only two other guys in the theater. The smell of popcorn mixed with some sweet disinfectant smell.
Gross. That much hasn’t changed.
The previews started. Several more men entered. A couple entered, the woman giggling and whispering to her partner. People sat as far away from each other as possible.
That hasn’t changed either.
A biker type came in and chose a seat against the wall in a row one down and across from Carlisle. He kept looking around at the other audience members instead of at the screen. He seemed to be looking for someone. He drummed his fingers on the back of the seat, he crossed his legs, he uncrossed them.
That guy is definitely tweaking. Probably came in here to score… or jack off… wonder how many days since he slept… my guess is he’s on at least a four day run so far…
Opening credits. Koto music. Rice fields. Bamboo. Kimonos.
The biker guy across from him got up and walked towards the lobby. Carlisle relaxed in his seat, more comfortable that there was now no one too near him.
The film did not disappoint. It was fascinating how creative these filmmakers had to be to NOT show what American films just put right in front of the camera. Japanese law prohibited the display of genitals, or even pubic hair, so they’d had to work above the elemental American level to achieve a pornographic effect. Nudity was at a minimum, leaving details to inference and imagination. Even sex acts, sprinkled liberally throughout the story, relied on what Carlisle thought of as a clever sleight-of-hand with the camera. Just enough was revealed. Just enough was hidden. A teaser.
In this particular film the lovers were supposed to be cousins involved in a forbidden affair. The Asian actor and actress were so similar in appearance, gender lines were often blurred. You would think you were seeing the body of the woman, then the camera would pull out to reveal it was the male being observed so sensually.
Carlisle found it highly erotic and soon enough his hand wandered to his lap to add a bit of manual stimulation to the visual and auditory. He closed his eyes, letting his own private film screen in stuttering flashes behind his eyelids.
Long pale fingers ran through lengthy auburn hair, that same hand replacing his own now buried beneath the waistband of his scrubs. He imagined it lightly but eagerly touching him until he was fully hard, then began to more aggressively stroke him. He arched his back, wriggling slightly in the confining seat, his restrained panting inaudible to others underneath the sounds of the film. He expanded his visualization to the face of the person belonging to that most accommodating hand -- solemn green eyes and cool blue-violet flushed lips. He locked his teeth together as cold electricity hummed the length of his spine. He gripped the armrest and mouthed her name as he released into his warm hand.
He sat in the darkened space for about ten minutes, recovering, fighting drowsiness before he got up and headed for the exit. The film played on as the lobby door swung shut behind him. He fumbled for a cigarette, suddenly fully awake as he hit the freezing night air.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
Chapter 5
He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He wasn’t superstitious, he didn’t believe in luck, but this kind of coincidence had to be significant . I can’t believe that’s the same person! I’ll be goddamned, meeting her like that!
He took himself back to the first time he had seen her in the window. She’d been wearing a dress, or a robe maybe; the feminine pulchritude he’d imagined was far from the dress and demeanor of the person he’d met tonight. The first time he’d seen her from the roof he’d gotten hard almost instantly. Yeah, well, it doesn’t seem to take much these days, I’m so fucking desperate!
The memory continued to the glimpse of violence he’d seen in the window that night. Some man had grabbed her in anger, possibly hurt her. Is that how she lives? In an abusive relationship? Protectiveness suddenly infused him. Years of abuse from his father had made him selfish, self-protective above all and he wasn’t used to caring what happened to others.
But I care about her, don’t I?
Without conscious volition, he found himself voicing the words aloud. “I care about her.”
When he was younger, he had prayed someone could save him from his father’s daily wrath, but no one had ever rescued him, he had just learned to cope - to suck-up to the jerk, to avoid him, but more often just to take whatever harsh treatment he had to -- to keep the old man from killing him. He couldn’t bear to think this girl was suffering a similar existence.
Tomorrow. I’ll check on her tomorrow.
He’d find a way to see her again. He felt completely sure of this. He started the car.
Restless, so restless. Nothing to do in town, that’s for sure. Can’t go home yet.
Española was a twenty-five minute drive up the 30, off the mesa.
A movie -- that will kill enough time. It would distract him from the undercurrent of obsessive thoughts long enough to resist acting on them. This was the state of mind he most feared. This is when he was the most vulnerable to relapse. Boredom - it was the catalyst to the craving that flowed just under the surface of his clean rehabbed self. Damn! A movie it is.
He stopped at a hole-in-the-wall joint in Espanola for a plate of their specialty: green chili pork posole. He dumped the whole side portion of chipotle salsa into it before he even tasted it. He smiled as he realized he probably only ordered the intense and earthy corn stew as an excuse to gorge on their toe-curling smoky jalapeño salsa. Some like it hot...
As he smoked out front after the meal, he realized the Tex-Mex dive was only a block from the town “adult video” store. He’d already seen everything of interest at the Dreamcatcher multiplex downtown. What the hell… let’s see what’s playing at the porn house…
A porno theater, per se, was an anachronism. These days you could rent almost anything, download almost anything from the internet. There were two tiny box theaters attached to the video store --more like screening rooms than actual theaters -- with about 100 seats each. He was sure they had once shown classics like “Deep Throat” and “Behind the Green Door”, but these days people were more likely to rent adult movies and take them home to the privacy of their in-home theaters. Espanola - like a lot of places in New Mexico - seemed to be stuck in an earlier decade.
One of the two movies they offered was a Japanese “pink” film, so named because the animation-generated censorship marks over the genitals in Japan were colored bubblegum pink. He’d seen one of the Japanese versions, and the hilarious thing was that the dancing pink rectangles missed their marks some of the time, revealing the quite un-shocking nudity beneath. Of course, there were no censor marks when they showed the films outside of Japan. Here in the States, they were considered more “art-house” type films with subtitles, credible plots and decent acting. There was sex, to be sure, but it never seemed as hardcore, never as grubby and tasteless, as American films. It was more voyeuristic, more sensual.
Not a bad choice.
The movie started at 7:00, and he sat down 5 minutes before it started. There were only two other guys in the theater. The smell of popcorn mixed with some sweet disinfectant smell.
Gross. That much hasn’t changed.
The previews started. Several more men entered. A couple entered, the woman giggling and whispering to her partner. People sat as far away from each other as possible.
That hasn’t changed either.
A biker type came in and chose a seat against the wall in a row one down and across from Carlisle. He kept looking around at the other audience members instead of at the screen. He seemed to be looking for someone. He drummed his fingers on the back of the seat, he crossed his legs, he uncrossed them.
That guy is definitely tweaking. Probably came in here to score… or jack off… wonder how many days since he slept… my guess is he’s on at least a four day run so far…
Opening credits. Koto music. Rice fields. Bamboo. Kimonos.
The biker guy across from him got up and walked towards the lobby. Carlisle relaxed in his seat, more comfortable that there was now no one too near him.
The film did not disappoint. It was fascinating how creative these filmmakers had to be to NOT show what American films just put right in front of the camera. Japanese law prohibited the display of genitals, or even pubic hair, so they’d had to work above the elemental American level to achieve a pornographic effect. Nudity was at a minimum, leaving details to inference and imagination. Even sex acts, sprinkled liberally throughout the story, relied on what Carlisle thought of as a clever sleight-of-hand with the camera. Just enough was revealed. Just enough was hidden. A teaser.
In this particular film the lovers were supposed to be cousins involved in a forbidden affair. The Asian actor and actress were so similar in appearance, gender lines were often blurred. You would think you were seeing the body of the woman, then the camera would pull out to reveal it was the male being observed so sensually.
Carlisle found it highly erotic and soon enough his hand wandered to his lap to add a bit of manual stimulation to the visual and auditory. He closed his eyes, letting his own private film screen in stuttering flashes behind his eyelids.
Long pale fingers ran through lengthy auburn hair, that same hand replacing his own now buried beneath the waistband of his scrubs. He imagined it lightly but eagerly touching him until he was fully hard, then began to more aggressively stroke him. He arched his back, wriggling slightly in the confining seat, his restrained panting inaudible to others underneath the sounds of the film. He expanded his visualization to the face of the person belonging to that most accommodating hand -- solemn green eyes and cool blue-violet flushed lips. He locked his teeth together as cold electricity hummed the length of his spine. He gripped the armrest and mouthed her name as he released into his warm hand.
He sat in the darkened space for about ten minutes, recovering, fighting drowsiness before he got up and headed for the exit. The film played on as the lobby door swung shut behind him. He fumbled for a cigarette, suddenly fully awake as he hit the freezing night air.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
Chapter 5