This is chapter 6, part 17 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.
Chapter 6 – Part 17, Revenge at Last
My renewal with María crushed Nanny, but she was pragmatic, and she still had Satyr. She realized I used her to get María back. I still wanted to make love with her, but she refused angrily,
“There’s somethings important I should tell you, but I won’t because of how you used and betrayed me. When you find out someday, you’ll be hurt to your heart, and you’ll remember how you treated me.”
Nothing I could say would redeem what I did. And I couldn’t think of any possible situation that matched her warning to me, so I simply replied,
“You’re right, and I’m so sorry. It’s just my desperation for María makes me crazy …”
* * * * * * * * * *
Except for shopping for María’s slut outfits, I hated shopping. So one Sunday afternoon, I found myself sipping coffee in a small café cater-corner to Macy’s Union Square. I drooled as San Francisco’s moneyed, elite, pampered women passed by the window. María, Terri and Drew came out of Macy’s; Terri and Drew loaded with packages for Terri’s upcoming birthday party. I barely cleared the door of the café when my head smashed against a stone ledge and I doubled over on the sidewalk. My hands covered my groin but I had no idea what happened. Someone yanked me up to my knees, and kicked me in the groin followed by a kick to my diaphragm. Gasping for breath, I watched a dark man struggling to open my pants. He cut through my belt with a large hunting knife, then suddenly toppled to one side and lay inert. Red liquid covered me, and I gropped my torso to see if I was cut. Drew picked-up the knife and cursed that his package spewed red wine everywhere. The police arrived before the assailant regained consciousness. María recognized the assailant from Guatemala – JerkFace. Medical technicians bundled us into ambulances and treated me for a broken pinky and strained tendons in one hand.
I owed Drew my genitals and my life, but he blew it off. He considered María had long before pre-paid my debt. He graciously accept a new box of red wines.
JerkFace had tracked me to San Francisco and entered the USA illegally. His claims I castrated him and damaged his internal organs in Guatemala had no standing in the USA, and his lawyer plea-bargained a three-year sentence with deportation thereafter. He didn’t live that long. He became the bitch of a prison gang after they discovered his fake testicles, and they rented him out between gang-rapes. He contracted hepatitis and AIDS, then a prisoner shiv’d him when he passed those on to other inmates.
* * * * * * * * * *
Yellow called me for a coffee meeting, said she had important stuff to tell me. She arrived pushing a baby stroller, and my peek-inside shocked me – the baby had popped-out black. It was the Pol’s. I teased her about the back-door path to her uterus – she said the Pol drove her out of herself, he must have used her front door as well. She and the Pol never discussed the baby, and she had no plans to do so. She didn’t want the Pol involved in any aspect of her life.
Her husband divorced her. She hated he kicked her out when the baby was born – she wanted to keep her family intact. She had joint custody of the other three children, and she lived with her libertarian lover. Her lover had started processing his own divorce and would adopt her new baby. They would marry as soon as his divorce completed. She said,
“I’m moving on with my life and my main regret is not connecting with you. Here’s my big news, but you have to swear to keep it totally secret, especially from María.”
“Ok, sure, sounds intriguing.”
“I’ve been investigating the Pol’s background for several months and I’ve discovered he married when he was still a ghetto brat in Los Angeles. He abandoned his spouse years ago, and came north to Oakland – he’s still married.”
“So that’s why he stalled on marrying María. Thank Isis for teenage ghetto marriages! Maybe that’s why he always went after married women – what a sleaze.”
“I’m preparing another exposé on the Pol, and waiting for the right moment to publish it. I’m going to destroy his career.”
“Urr, he’s the father of your new son…”
“Just because he’s a great fuck doesn’t mean he’s not a slime-ball politician.”
“No regrets for that last front-door trespass?”
She laughed, “No, I love the little black bastard, and actually, I plan to fuck the Pol again after I destroy him. As many times as he wants, he’s a great fuck. He’ll do it because the liberals love to fuck the enemy. As María would say, ‘that’s puta stuff’, and there’s no bigger puta around than me.”
“I should have said ‘yes’ to you when I had the chance. I love putas.”
* * * * * * * * * *
I decided to take charge of the wedding. I sensed I had a real chance to bind María to me, perhaps my last chance. She envisioned what she wanted the wedding to be like, and I would give her everything she wanted, no questions asked, price would be no object. However strong our relationship at the moment, I still lived in terror of losing her.
So we sit down to plan out our wedding. The date was easy – our next anniversary. She wanted a virgin bride wedding, huge flowing white dress with a long train, and I was thrilled. Her enthusiasm grabbed me and carried me along. She wanted a Catholic ceremony in a big, beautiful church. I wasn’t Catholic, but this was fine with me, the least I could do for ‘el amor de mi vida‘ (the love of my life). Furthermore, I thought taking religious vows might ensure she’d stay with me. The local priest said I’d have to convert to Catholicism, and I agreed. However, the logistics got complicated from this point – the location of the wedding. We had roughly the same number of friends in both San Francisco and Antigua, Guatemala – choosing either location would eliminate a large group of people.
We settled on Antigua, to please María. I’d pay to fly down and lodge any of my relatives that wanted to come. We looked for a wedding planner in Antigua, and didn’t find one – we’d have to make most of the arrangements ourselves. María had more flexibility in her work schedule, so we decided she’d make two or more trips to Antigua to arrange for the priest, church, flowers, salon, music, and so on. But it became apparent we’d have to delay the actual ceremony for several more months, perhaps until the following anniversary. The conversion to Catholicism required classes and several church milestones. I was disappointed – I hadn’t realized the planning for a wedding as María wanted would be so involved and complicated. In the meantime. I would pamper her and keep her focused on the wedding, our new marriage.
To get started, we went to look for rings and her wedding dress. Trying on dresses was as much fun, if not as erotic, as trying on lingerie from the Mistress Shop. I personally found the wedding dresses to be erotic. Their design emphasized the beauty in the woman, not just her sexuality. María’s olive skin tones, dark hair and dark eyes contrasted beautiful with the whites of the dresses. The nicest dresses cost upwards of $2,000 dollars, a real bargain price for her smile and happiness. She was pleased with a dress that was my favorite, and I wanted to go ahead and buy it. But she wanted to wait – she had seen some Mexican charro wedding dresses in a catalog, and she wanted to try them out first.
The rings were much less interesting. To me, a wedding band is a wedding band, but María seemed to detect subtle, yet important differences in these simple bands. She finally made her choice, a band with light serrations, but wanted to delay the purchase until we had a firm wedding date. I chose my own band, a distinctive design with a raised square top and bold serrations around the edges that complemented hers – it would draw attention so I could proudly brag I was married to María. I would have the middle of the square deep-relief engraved with the letter ‘M’. I wanted this wedding badly.
The conversion process for an agnostic to a Catholic started to look complicated, and I got antsy – the church has confirmations, first communions, baptisms, catechisms and a host of other things Catholics do as small children. It wasn’t enough to show-up for mass and follow the rituals. They had classes I should take, a process of several months.
I just wanted to marry my wife.
The wedding planning bound us together tighter than I ever felt before. After we chose the wedding bands, I took María back to the Camera Obscura at Seal Rock on a full moon night. At 2:00 AM, I raised her skirt, pressed my face into her vulva, cried, apologized for not marrying her years ago, and asked her forgiveness.
We were outrageously happy in those days. We never mentioned the Pol. María still saw her occasional lovers at the apartments and one-or-two others, but I didn’t care and didn’t ask. I dressed her and did her makeup for her dates, and I bathed and douched her when she returned. We cuddled and huddled and prattled on about everything, even the most useless topics. María was an intoxicating, addictive drug.
So was Nanny. Every since the Pol disappeared, Nanny had been heartbroken, seeing her chance at me had slipped away. But I was still addicted to her, we missed our warmth and intensity together. She begrudgingly forgave me. Any time María overnighted with a lover and whenever the opportunity presented, we made love. And I Zoned her, marveling at the beauty in her face and the glow in her eyes for me. We pretended we still might get together some day. Satyr helped us, keeping watch out for María.
* * * * * * * * * *
María decided to spill the rest of her secrets about the important men she had before I met her. She had her first steady boyfriend, sort of, at 16 years. He was timid and shy, and terrified of her. They walked around town holding hands, and he even dared to kiss her a few times before he was castrated. He was discovered bleeding, close to death, a block from María’s house. María was in shock, and spent every spare hour at his hospital bed until she received a wire from the perpetrator, an older guy. He told her she belonged exclusively to him, and he’d destroy any man that went after her. María thought that was tremendously romantic, that a man would fight violently for her, and her puppy love with the poor castrated kid evaporated. She agreed to wait for the return of the castrator.
In the period the castrator was in hiding, María transitioned from gangly girl to adolescent beauty. Men pursued her in droves, and she lost her virginity while she waited for the castrator’s return. Her first time was painful and otherwise unremarkable – no cherry popped thanks to the loving attentions of her father. The second time was with a much older man who exposed her to the beauty of her sexual sense, far beyond her masturbation expertise. He flipped-on her orgasmic switch, and she never looked back. The remaining men in the first half of her football team merit no comment. The castrator returned to claim her, and she filled-out the second half of the football team while she was his girlfriend. He was completely blind to her infidelities.
He told her how he castrated the kid – he lured the kid into an old colonial ruins with the promise of a ‘mamada‘ (penis-suck). The kid was a complete novice, he had heard of mamada but didn’t know what it was. The castrator had him strip, spread his legs and bend over. The first kick to the genitals immobilized the kid. Several kicks later, the kid lost consciousness, and he continued kicking and stomping until he destroyed the kid’s genitals. But to make sure, he sliced-off his penis and testicles. He dumped the kid over a wall onto the sidewalk and escaped through the ruins. The kid was saved from bleeding to death by passersbys, but by the time he could name his attacker, the castrator had fled to Honduras. With no other witnesses, the castrator’s relatives in Honduras swore he was with them at the time of the assault. The castrator presented properly dated bus tickets and passport stamps, the Honduran government refused to extradite, and nothing could be done. The kid endured several weeks of taunts and bullying by the town’s riff-raff, snickers and rebuffs from the girls, then hung himself in the ruin where he was castrated. Now there were no witnesses.
The castrator returned to claim María after the kid died. Their romance lasted a few months – she left him because he was too jealous and controlling. He returned to Honduras when relatives of the castrated kid paid a ‘sicario’ (hit man) to kill him. María continued her free-fucking ways during and between new men until I discovered her.
As I listened to María tell the story, I had an epiphany – María’s casualness, almost indifference, to male violence over women was cultural. Both men and women expected men to physically fight for a women, and castration was common and culturally unexceptional. Unlike in the United States, you never saw castrations reported on the news in Guatemala. Genitals, penises, were just another uninteresting appendage of the male body, like an arm or leg. I remembered how Maria loved to watch the Mexican masked wrestlers when we lived in Antigua. She cheered for both wrestlers, the blows and body slams excited her, and she wet her panty when the winner crunched the loser. The violence of boxing and hockey equally provoked her. She said it was silly men fought for a title, money or shiny trophy – the only worthwhile trophy was a woman.
* * * * * * * * * *
We eventually came around to the subject of Pol. We both missed him. María missed the raw, animal sex, and I missed it was my woman he exploited in the most intimate fashion. He tore out my guts with humiliation, the most delicious pain I ever felt.
She refused to describe the Ride for me and said it was a trick ‘puta‘ women did with lovers, never with husbands. She asked me to never ask her again; I took a deep breath and let it go – the Ride would never be for me. She also asked that I not ask for deep-throating. Someday, she’d be ready, and she’d let me know. I let that go too. Maria wasn’t ready yet for a deeper discussion about the Pol, so I let that slide for the moment.
We went to the Mistress Shop to turn in the Pol’s credit card, thinking the manager could return it to the Pol. She was surprisingly friendly with me for the first time. She checked the card and said it was still activated – would we like to do another shopping spree before we gave it up? She even let me into the men’s backroom, but the butt-plugs and other unrecognizable paraphernalia grossed me out, so I chose some expensive testicle rings. María went nuts, dresses, blouses and skirts, Italian tanga swimsuit bottoms, packages of hosiery, wicked bras and garter belts. The art and colors of the masques intrigued me, so I chose several. We had a great time trying on everything – I thought maybe María had beat the Pol after all. As we checked out, the manager brought out a package of Italian panties and handed it to me.
“A gift?”, I asked.
“Hardly,” she laughed, “these are the best ones. The others were B grade. The Pol will pay dearly for these.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The latest office scuttlebutt was the Pol had barely escaped jail. He had coked-up the House Speaker’s wife and fucked her into insanity. She went home, started a fight with her hubby which turned to blows out in their front yard. A right-wing-nut police captain arrested them both, illegally tested her for drugs, and saw his opportunity to bring down the entire communist-infested Democratic party in Sacramento. The Governor intervened, threatened the captain’s job, and the captain decided to cut a deal – reduce all charges to misdemeanors in exchange for the wife’s drug source.
The source, of course, was the Pol, and now the Governor steamed – the Pol likely had his hand around the Governor’s testicles, or his penis in the Governor’s wife. He ordered the captain to stand down, but the captain now knew he would be the scapegoat.
The captain called in a favor with the vice squad, and sent them and the press to the Pol’s apartment. Yellow was in the press contingent that covered the Pol’s arrest. They arrested the Pol with 1/4 kilo of medical-grade cocaine and his penis in the anus of the underage daughter of a Republican Representative. When the arrest hit the police wire, the state police appeared, infuriated because the Pol was under their investigation for misappropriation of state funds.
The Governor took personal control of the scandal. Buying off most of the press was easy, and the Governor suddenly became a supporter of the under-aged girl’s father’s favorite pork project. To cover-up of the theft of public monies, the state employees’ unions agreed to kick-in money to cover everything, reimburse the treasury, and argued the money was private donations, passed through ‘official’ channels so keep them ‘above board’. The police captain budged after the Republican minority whip intervened, and the captain was promoted to major. The Pol was charged only with a misdemeanor, corrupting the morals of a minor.
After Yellow’s first exposé, she had been hired by a mainstream right-wing-nut newspaper. With the new charges against the Pol, she published her exposé about the Pol’s abandoned wife, then she hounded the Pol, the father of her new baby, to desperation over his corruption and use of taxpayer monies. His misdemeanor threatened to snowball into felony charges, so he agreed to resign.
The Pol’s resignation party from the Senate resembled a New Orlean’s funeral more than a ‘mea culpa’. The entire Democratic establishment attended, well accompanied by Hollywood celebrities, and even the pandering press noted the quantity of crying women. The Pol proclaimed his innocence – he had been entrapped by a vast right-wing conspiracy.
The Republicans were equally upset. They wanted the Pol to stay-on and run for Governor. He was so clearly unqualified and scandal-ridden they figured any half-wit Republican that kept his pecker in his pants could beat the Pol. The Pol announced he was returning to his roots as a community organizer and spiritual adviser to minority communities. And fear not, “I will be back!” María and I watched the news-clips about the party in total silence – I didn’t dare breathe too loudly. I had my revenge at last.
* * * * * * * * * *
In secret, I took the engagement ring to the hotsy-totsy stores in Sausalito, shopped it around and sold the diamond to a jeweler. It was the most money I had ever held in my hands. The gold setting I sold to a different dealer as scrap, still enough money to take María to the best restaurant in San Francisco. I used the diamond money to pay off our mortgage on our rental house. In secret.
End of book content.
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