Meanwhile Friday night that week found Nadrea without her usual accomplice, Instead she was at a lifestyle party with Mira and Tiffany in tow. It was the type of party where unaccompanied men were allowed only by invitation and while it was an event primarily designed for couples unaccompanied women were never turned away, even if they came in threes.
So as Tiffany and Mira danced into the night topless in nothing more than hot pants and a pair of high heels Nadrea meandered in a listless manner, occasionally flirting with a woman in a couple while in most cases the man watched in hopeful anticipation.
Nadrea was in fact simply tired, it had been a long week with a particularly long night prior to this one. She went inside the voyeurs lounge that was filled with beds and platforms and chairs for lovers arranged in a fishbowl of a room that could be watched from nearly anywhere around the club. Reclining on chase lounge skirt partially lifted caressing her own thighs looking for someone to join in with or a particularly interesting set of an audience to put on a little show for, inspiration of any kind was not to be found and a few minutes later she wondered out to dance with Mira and Tiffany.
The pair was not worn, or weary, or preoccupied with thoughts of other people. Nadrea was as much enamored with the actions of the night before as she was the past. For all of her life of privilege there were secrets that she kept, unspoken little truths hidden away from everyone’s view point, most of the time even her own. She had always lived life on her terms and was always on the eclectic side, intellect and wealth had provided quite nicely for those luxuries. Nadrea reflected on the conversations she had had the night before. When asked about being in love she had in fact answered honestly. Nadrea with romantic intention had only once told someone she loved them, a fact mired in the secrets that hid what she had once felt. She was very much by a common man’s definition been promiscuous, a slut and a whore for years. She did love the sensations, the freedom, the experience and in many ways the exchange of power both given and surrendered.
The word “love” cut her through, she would only use it in the shallowest of context. The mere thought of uttering it to another person made her physically ill. Looking deeply into her past she dredged up the place where it had all began.
Nadrea was pretty as she always had been but as was often the case she was alone, distraught and often sad. Much of the time if someone looked past the seduction and wanton disregard of her gaze there was something truly sorrowful waiting to be found. When she wasn’t alone it was because the family’s live in was around or a parent happened to be home when going from here to there. Most of the time she kept the company of others in much the same predicament, those who also lacked quality time with their family’s, time that had been exchanged in the endless pursuit of even greater wealth. Standing against the cold hard stone wall of that evenings club she was reminded of that school on a cold April day when she was sixteen. She thought about how he had approached her. Nadrea had known him for over ten years by then. He was in fact a family friend and the oldest consistent friend she had to that point in life. He was from a family of even greater wealth than hers. His reputation was of immaculate discourse unlike the some what sorted interpretation of her by many others. As a favor Nadrea would accompany him to his academy’s spring formal. Like most pretty teenage girls she did have a boyfriend but he was given an explanation of the circumstance and not option was given to him. Nadrea was in fact going to the event with her old friend.
On the night of the dance she had arranged for her boyfriend to pick her up afterwards, an attempt to placate his untrusting emotions and give him at least a part of her evening, an evening that they wouldn’t have seen each other much before on anyway, The pair had been a couple for just under six months, at that age much longer was unrealistic, many celebrity marriages don’t last that long. So on that cold April night Nadrea was remembering waiting outside for her ride, leaning against the building much like the wall of the school as the cold damp stone pressed into from that school in the city.
Back then she was heated from dancing and still sweating from the frivolity of youth. To that point it was a routine and uneventful evening. She stood outside waiting as the sweat dried on her young skin, passing the minutes discussing music and clothes with her escort for the evening. They laughed at the minute absurdities of their lives, not realizing the distance between their realities and so many others. As her boyfriend drove up her date did the gentlemanly thing and escorted her to the curb to meet the car, innocently kissing her good night on the cheek as he had done so many times before. A custom seen as normal by many cultures, there isn’t a natural born Italian or Frenchman in the world who would have mistaken the kiss for anything more meaningful than a ritual and greeting.
A male American teenager on the other hand is not nearly as accepting. Thoughts of betrayal and deception were flooding his otherwise shallow mind. Thinking nothing of it she entered the car finding an angry and confused boy. A young man so betrayed not by Nadrea but by his own emotions and insecurities that he could only imagine the worst. Dreaming up in terrified semblances of reality that he and his emotions were nothing more than playthings for Nadrea, his emotion and virtue to her alone were of no consequence. Pulling away he shook as he began to cry. Nadrea not at all oblivious to him asked what was wrong, thinking that he had soldiered on to get her, wanting and need time with her despite some grave personal tragedy.
He began with a line of questions about her evening, each less insightful but more accusatory than the last. Nadrea reassured him of his place exclusively in her heart, but his distrust of her grew with each passing second. “Whore” he yelled at her, Nadrea reeling at his unexpected reaction to what she considered to be nothing just an obligation of life, tried to comfort him to no avail. Between his hateful angry chastising words and their combined tears and sobs she whimpered “but Ben, I love you”. Words said where things rarely ever came from, her heart, well intentioned, long before thought about but never said and in the way that only youth or old age could provide for, honest with out other motivation or intention. The words were returned without the same devotion or sincerity, powerful words uttered by him as a means of control.
They continued on as a couple for a short time longer but as is so often the case the intensity and temptations of so many other things in life made young love fall away, accompanied with all the pain and scarring that a lost first love will bring. Every time he disagreed with her he would manipulate her feelings and self esteem by berating her telling her she was a whore, a slut, and worthless. Foolishly these words somehow mattered to the otherwise headstrong young lady. It became Ben’s routine method of control breaking her down a word at a time, the more he insulted her the more determined she was to make him see her as wonderful and special. Oddly enough he never did he had his own demons, he was not man enough to put them aside and be honest with her about his own feelings instead he criticized everything she did, how she looked and constantly question her devotion to him, keeping her heart in his hands and his own feelings just beyond arms length. The relationship was not lost at all to Nadrea’s infidelity or tiring of his cruel words but to Ben’s, instead she discovered him in the intimate comfort of another one evening. She found him with a close friend of hers, James. It was never again discussed, James and Nadrea remained friends to this day, perhaps because they both appreciate the same thing in a man.
Next Chapter The Modern Love Note, Sweet Nothings, & Sexual Overtures
Previous Chapter Two Nights in Reston
