Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (6 page)

“Mr. Delacroix, you can call me Nez.”

He got up and shot around the room like a jackrabbit. “We have a big day ahead of us. I have so much to share. Oh, Nez, you have no idea what you’ve done,” he yelped. “Thank you, cher. Thank you.”

I was still lying in bed naked and giggling when Sunny came in.

“Sorry, Miss Nez.” He diverted his eyes and turned his back.

“Oh no, come in.”

“I should have knocked. Mr. Delacroix is taking you out today, so I’m here to help you get ready.” He went into the bathroom and started the water and I could hear him singing. His singing voice was more angelic than his speaking voice.

Surely, he had better things to do. “You know, I can bathe myself. I’m feeling a lot better now.”

He came into the bedroom and opened the armoire to retrieve fresh towels. I spied my backpack, thank god.

Sunny was shirtless as always and wearing his purple silk pajama pants that hung from his perfectly sculpted hips. He chuckled. “It’s my pleasure, and I assure you I won’t sit on you in the tub again.”

Words escaped me. I might have died without his care. I had not realized how far gone I had been on the poison, as Mr. Delacroix called it. “Come, sit for a sec.” I patted the bed next to me.

Sunny sat down. “Miss Nez, I know this all seems surreal to you, and you probably have a billion questions. I know I did. Spend the day and evening with Mr. Delacroix and you’ll see what a good and kind man he is. I love him more than anyone does and I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. Today I think you’ll find the bright side of things very appealing, and with bright light, your questions will be answered.”

“Why are you so good to me? You don’t even know me. Honestly, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”

“I’m good to you because you’re good. You’re good for Mr. Delacroix, you’re good for the family, and therefore you’re good for me.” He got up, took my hand, and led me to the warm bath. I lowered my body into the tub. The hot bubbly water reminded me of the tender spots Mr. Delacroix had awakened. The memory rekindled the pleasure and my breath caught.

“Miss Nez? Is it too hot?”

As I settled in, I said, “No, but I think Mr. Delacroix might be,” and smiled.

“Oh yeah, he is!” Sunny sat on the toilet seat. He put his elbows on his knees and then hung his head in his hands. His thick, wavy blond hair fell about in a waterfall of sun.

“You okay, Sunny?”

“Yeah, just a busy night at the bar. Fridays are busy this time of year and we had a fight around three in the morning. The cops had to come.”

“Oh, shit!” I said.

“Yeah, I hate it when the cops have to come around. I mean, I don’t have anything to worry about. The place is legit, but still, I don’t know what some of my regulars are up to and I don’t wanna scare them off. Goddamned hicks. I have no idea why they come here and stir up so much trouble.” He sighed. “Mr. Delacroix said he’d bring you by later for a drink to see the place. I think you’ll like it. It’s small, but we have a good group of locals and great music, nothing elaborate.”

“I can’t wait to see it. I can see how proud you are to have your own business. You sure work hard enough at it.”

“Keeps my ass outta trouble for sure.” He sat looking at me as I washed my body. “Here, cher, let me wash your hair for you.”

His hands were already filled with floral cedar shampoo. His strong fingers gently rubbed my scalp. “Miss Nez, if you ever have any questions or need to talk, I’m here for you, okay? Mr. Delacroix is a private man, but he and I don’t have secrets and he gave me permission to be your confidant should the need arise. I may be able to answer some questions if he isn’t available. Look up now.” He poured the warm water down my hair and back.

“I have a question now, Sunny.”

“I’m ready for anything you ask.” He squirt conditioner into his hand.

“I read some of Monique Delacroix’s journal entries last night. Mr. Delacroix is going to ask me to sign a contract, right?”

“Yes, probably tonight or tomorrow.”

“What can I possibly have to offer him, other than sex? I don’t have money or skills or anything of value.”

Another pitcher’s worth of warm water ran down my back. Sunny rubbed my shoulders with the soft washcloth.

“I can say the contract includes rules and expectations with regard to your relationship—not a working relationship, a personal one. Miss Nez, he likes you. The contract helps sort things out before you get too involved. It promotes harmony, which is a good thing because Mr. Delacroix has peculiarities. I’ll tell you right now that it is not legally binding and it’s totally negotiable.”

“Ty told me you signed a contract with him.”

Sunny nodded.

“Would you do it again?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Why?”

He lifted me up and wrapped a towel around me, escorting me to the bedroom. I could tell he was thinking about his answer very carefully.

“Miss Nez, when I came here I was ten times more fucked up than you are and I didn’t care about life; I didn’t care if I died or what. I was full of hate for my family and myself. I would rather die than try. You know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose I do, but what did you get out of the agreement? I mean, clearly you didn’t get a kingdom, like Monique did.”

He sighed. “Actually, I did. I have my self-respect, education, discipline, and I value my life and other people’s lives. I have a business and friends and I feel good now. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been. My body is my temple and I know I can do anything. I guess my kingdom is my empowerment. Really, cher, it was the best thing I have ever done and I recommend you sign on. But don’t forget that you can negotiate. Now, come on, he’ll be waiting.”

He dropped the towel on the floor and went to work on my hair. There was a noticeable bulge in the front of his pants. I was so worked up from the activities of the morning, it was all I could do not to grab it. My insides twisted in knots.

Sunny kneeled, holding a pair of cream-colored panties, thong style, into which I stepped. His hands brushed my calves, thighs, and buttocks as he adjusted them. I started to feel wet between my legs. Still on his knees, he adjusted a white garter belt around my hips and eased a pair of silk panty hose of the same color up to my thigh, where he fastened them to the garter—the sun god bowing before me.

“Okay, cher, settle down now. Your legs are wobbling on me.”

He laughed as I stepped into the lightweight cream-colored silk skirt that flowed with layers of gossamer fabric to just above my knees. He stood slowly in front of me as he pulled the skirt to my waist. His face was only inches from mine, and his eyes were like white ice. My heart was beating wildly.

“This isn’t fair,” I whispered.

“It’s just the way it is.” Sunny lifted a white silk brocade bustier around me. “It takes two to tango with this one.”

“You had to say that, didn’t you?”

He tugged the strings tight, recalling the delicious force Mr. Delacroix had used. He pulled especially hard and asked, “Would you rather it take three?”

The thought of both he and Mr. Delacroix at the same time excited me to the point of incoherency. I did not know what to say as he reached down and lifted my breast so that it would sit properly in the cup. His hand went for my other breast and I moved toward him.

“Nope,” he snapped as he tightened the last rung of lace, causing me to stumble. “Ya gotta sign on first, Miss Nez. Then we’ll see.”

He touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “It’s all up to you, and ultimately to Mr. Delacroix, but I promise, once you sign on, I’m your friend and confidant for life. I mean that.”

The sheer white blouse flowed over my body to add a bit of modesty to the otherwise risqué outfit, and the cream-colored riding boots were just the right touch. Half my breasts were sitting atop the bustier and I was afraid my nipples, hard as little pebbles, would peek out. Thank god, I had the blouse.

Mr. Delacroix was standing in the living room waiting for me, dressed in black pants and a silvery-gray linen shirt that hung loose. He gasped when he saw me.

“
Neige! Par sa peau blanche comme la neige! Mon cher!
Sunny, she looks good enough to eat.”

Mr. Delacroix handed me a white riding crop.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“We’re going riding!”

As we left the apartment, it dawned on me that I had not been out in days. The iron gallery going around the courtyard hardly seemed as strange or ominous. I looked over the railing to see the garden.

“The fountain is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is. I had it made. The little boy is Sunny.”

“Really?”

“Well, not really, more figuratively, but the angel, she’s definitely my dearest Collette; friend, confidant and dependable submissive.”

“Collette?”

“We’ll get into the details later, but it’s safe to say that she wasn’t as strong as we all thought. God rest her beautiful and generous soul. It’s wise to keep in mind as we go forward, Nezzie, that there’s a point where we can give too much.”

The gate shut with a clank behind us. A trumpet and clarinet duet was playing; music was everywhere and people were singing and dancing. The square was a lot louder down here than it had seemed from upstairs. Mr. Delacroix pulled my hand and we ran between groups of people until we took a left around the corner out of the square, where my carriage literally awaited.

The white carriage, adorned with painted flowers, gold gilt with black trim, and bench seats, was pulled by a white mule with a hat covered in flowers. There were even special holes in the hat so her ears could peek through. I had never seen anything so cute.

“Oh, Mr. Delacroix,” I said with delight.

“Madam.” He bowed and offered his hand to assist me into the carriage.

“Thank you, sir.” His eyes lit at the salutation and he jumped up beside me.

“Good morning, George,” he said to the driver. “This is my friend, Nez, and this is her first time in the city. Let’s give her the grand tour of our wonderful home.”

George was a middle-aged black man with skin as dark as Mr. Delacroix’s hair. He was dressed in work pants, a flowered shirt, and a floppy wide-brimmed hat. He had a long piece of grass in his mouth and did not seem able to take his eyes off me. It made me uncomfortable and I checked my pebbles. Everything was tucked in. I had to admit my get-up was a little crazy, until I looked around and found that I fit in perfectly, even looked tame compared to some other people. Men were dressed in drag, a woman was wearing a Wonder Woman outfit, and various hybrids of vampires wandered about. One young woman about my age had nothing on but a lace bra and blue jeans. Bums dressed in rags sat on the bench in front of the cathedral. A shirtless man with torn overalls was riding a unicycle in circles. One strap was broken so that his private parts were visible.

“Right, Mr. Delacroix. We’ll do the deeeeeluxe tour.” With a click of George’s tongue, the mule started out.
Clop, Clop, Clop
. . . the noise I had heard outside my window all week.

Each building had history that George would illustrate with vignettes and personal stories. Little alleys and tucked-away courtyards; carriage houses turned hotels, restaurants, bars, and shops.

“Oh, Mr. Delacroix, will we see Sunny’s bar today? He seemed anxious for us to go.”

“Yeah, cher, we’ll head that way around cocktail hour when it’s fine and proper for a lady to be at a bar.”

His serious tone made his remark seem contrived and old-fashioned. I chuckled.

“Na-na, I’m serious about that, and don’t ever go unescorted.”

“I didn’t take you as the old-fashioned type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He took my hand. “Now look here, cher,” he said as he pointed a perfectly manicured hand toward a building we were approaching. “George, hold up.”

“Wooaaah, now.” The black man pulled on the reins and the white mule stopped.

“‘Look here’?” I pretended to sound incredulous. “That’s bad grammar, Mr. Delacroix.”

“Will I be punished?” he asked with an evil grin. “You have a riding crop to use.”

My face was bright red. George sat looking straight ahead.

Mr. Delacroix jumped off the carriage and offered his hand. We stood before an iron gate to a beige stucco building walled in with matching stucco about twelve feet high. The plaque on the wall said
Ursuline Convent, 1752
.

“This is the oldest existing building in the Mississippi Valley. French Colonial architecture,” Mr. Delacroix said. My eyes took in the lonely majesty of the place and its solid hold to the ground.

Mr. Delacroix continued, “This is where Monique came when she first landed in the Louisiana Territory. The boat actually dropped her off not too far from the hostel where you were. Back then that area was all wharf with gristmills, ice and fish houses, and big cotton and rice warehouses, not to mention slave exchanges.”

My heart stopped. “Was Monique a slave, Mr. Delacroix?”

“No, thank god.”

I gazed at the building. “Why are all those shutters closed on the top floor?”

“Ah Nezzie, that’s the best question, but before I answer, I’ll tell you that if you ever need proof of Monique’s existence, it’s found behind those walls. But you must take it upon yourself, if you wish. Monique doesn’t give up her secrets easily.” Mr. Delacroix sighed. “As for the shutters, they remain closed and will for eternity. They’ve been that way for about a hundred and fifty or so years; that was when it was discovered the priests had made the upper floor of the convent into their den of inequity and untold cruelties.”

“God,” I exclaimed.

“Does it turn you on? I should think the nuns very lucky girls,” he smiled. His eyes caught the sunlight.

“You’re shitting me, right?”

He frowned at my expression, but I could not wrap my head around any of it.

“No, actually, it’s true,” he shrugged. “Monique wasn’t here when that was going on, though, because she was a virgin when she came to the family just like you. So,” he said firmly, “what do you think? Does a den of inequity and untold cruelty turn you on?”

Laser-blue eyes drilled my insides and made my panties damp. I looked away and jumped in the carriage. He followed and picked up my riding crop I’d left on the seat.

“Nezzie, baby, you didn’t answer my question,” he said in a singsong voice as he whirled the crop in the air. “How does your garden grow, Miss Nezzie, with inequity or cruelty?” His expression instantly dark, his face in mine, he slapped the crop down hard next to my thigh.

“Carry on, George.”

“Yes, sir!” said George and off we went.

We passed a fine hotel, restaurant, and an old bookstore, and ended up at the opposite end of the square from the apartment.

“Thank you, George, you’ve outdone yourself today. Hug the wife for me and kiss the babies.” Mr. Delacroix held his hand out for me, and handed George money.

Very pleased with his tip, George hollered, “Thank ya, sir, will do. You all enjoy the rest of the afternoon!” He waved, tipped his hat, and
clop, clop, clop, clopped
down the road.

“Let me introduce you to President Jackson, my lady.”

Mr. Delacroix led me across the sidewalk. We passed a French bakery that smelled divine and stood in front of St. Louis Cathedral. “Catholic people, mostly French, have been worshipping here since 1720 or so, but the original church burned in 1788. I’d take you in, but I think there is a mass going on.” He swung the riding crop to and fro as he walked.

He took my hand and we scrambled up the steps to the center of Jackson Square.

“Mind if we sit for a bit? I’m feeling a little worn out,” I said.

Mr. Delacroix was at my side immediately. “Nez, you okay? I thought maybe the fresh air would do you good.”

“Mr. Delacroix, you’re the most interesting, weird guy I’ve ever met.”

“Why thank you, Miss Nez. Thank you kindly.” His Southern drawl melted me, but he seemed to correct himself. I wondered how he could turn his dialect off and on like a light switch. “Shall I run up to the house and get you some water?”

“I think I may be hungry. Breakfast was kind of a blur to me this morning.”

“Miss Nez, you need to get accustomed to eating three squares a day. It’s part of the agreement, ya know, and we need to make sure you increase your stamina.”

“Mr. Delacroix, about that agreement.”

He sat up on the bench and leaned in with intense eyes.

“Look,” I said, “I have three friends in the world right now—Ty, Sunny, and you. You guys have all helped me in ways I could never pay back.”

“No one is looking for paybacks. That isn’t what this kind of contract is about at all.”

“I know. Both Ty and Sunny explained that to me.”

“It’s a simple agreement between us that outlines specific details ahead of time, so we don’t get bogged down with them later on.”

“And you have your peculiarities,” I interrupted.

“Don’t interrupt, Nezzie.” Sharp eyes, sharp tongue, not a hint of Southern, he held the riding crop across his lap.

“Tell me about them.”

“I wasn’t sure you were ready. You know this morning when we . . .” he paused as if he didn’t know the right word, “. . . made love, I told you it was my first time, right? That I only fuck and that I don’t make love.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, I usually don’t get aroused unless I am in total control of the situation, like having my partner immobilized, or in other instances, like if my partner has me immobilized.”

“Immobilized? You mean, like, tied up?”

“Yes. Your pain pleasures me and it helps me know I am in control.”

“You want to hurt me?” A wave of fear rose in me and I moved away from him. I thought of the last time Steve beat my mother for oversleeping. “Oh god, no, I want you to
want
to hurt for me.”

I kept my distance. “I always kinda wondered how all that worked.”

“The thing with you, though, is our experience this morning was totally new to me, so spontaneous and explosive. I didn’t plan on fucking you at all.” He moved closer to me. “It just happened so naturally and I wasn’t in total control like I usually am.”

“Well, you seemed like you were. You were kinda rough, too.”

“If you think that’s rough, you have no idea how wonderful it can be. We’ll explore your limits together and when you reach them, we’ll go from there. Oh, Nez, it’ll be truly blissful and exciting for both of us.” He paused. “And really, baby, as with anything in life, if there’s no pain, there’s no gain. You have to like it or it isn’t pleasurable to me. Do you understand?” He took my face in his hands and his eyes were all I saw. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Mr. Delacroix, I’m getting there.”

He jumped up and whooped like a madman. “Come on, let’s go meet Mother and get some lunch.”

“What?” Just when I thought I was getting somewhere in figuring him out, he would throw another curveball.

“Mother’s waiting on us. She’s been waiting an awful long time, too.”

Either I was out of my mind, or I had misheard both Ty and Sunny when they told me his mother had died when he was a young boy. We meandered through Pirates Alley and Mr. Delacroix showed me the spot where he had found Sunny barely alive.

“God, Nez, I thought the kid was dead. Someone did such a number on him. He was beaten and raped, all covered in bruises and whacked out on heroin, barely breathing. See, love, that’s
not
the kind of pain we’re talking about here. The only pain that pleases me is the pain you
want
to give me. My pleasure comes from knowing that pain helps you reach your sweetest potential. It’s the kind of pain that you’ll live for, and it is the kind of pain that helps me live.”

He pulled me on and we came out on lively, loud Bourbon Street. “Here’s the real carnival. I don’t venture over here too much because it is all tourists, but when I was younger and stupid, I’d come over here and get my jollies.”

We hung a left and passed tourists of all ages milling about the drink stands, bars, and strip clubs. Periodically, Mardi Gras beads would rain down from a balcony.

“People can just walk around here drinking alcohol like it’s a Coke?”

“Yep, pretty crazy.”

We approached Bienville Street in a slightly quieter area and jogged right.

“Here it is, cher, Sunny’s Bar.”

It was small, but cute and cozy. Live blues music came from the back. The neon sign was yellow and bright, beseeching all to
Visit Sunny's Bar!
I wanted to go in, but Mr. Delacroix yanked my arm. “Not till five, Miss Nez.”

We came to the next road and took another left until we approached a four-lane split thoroughfare. The traffic was heavy, so we went one block to our right and crossed in the crosswalk. Modern high-rises and a mall and hotels like you see in most cities. I was disappointed; I had hoped all of New Orleans was as beautiful and tragic as the French Quarter.

We stood on the corner of Carondelet and Canal to wait for the streetcar.

“Nezzie, baby, have you ever heard of
A Streetcar Named Desire
?”

“Mr. Delacroix, if you don’t stop it, I will punish you!” I smiled.

“Promise?” he asked eagerly and handed me the riding crop.

“Oh, give me that thing!” I grabbed the crop, and people, mostly tourists, stared at us. I shook it at them.

Mr. Delacroix laughed so hard he could barely stand up straight. “Gotta love your sense of humor, Miss Nez. You’re just what the doctor ordered!”

The trolley came to a halt and scores of tourists got off while others got on, a ruffle of street maps and camera cases. We found a space for two near the rear of the trolley. The windows were open and the metal seat was cool under my hot bottom. Once the trolley started moving, a delightful breeze entered through the window. Mr. Delacroix allowed me to rest my head on his shoulder as we passed Lee Circle, and then a commercial district with modern fast-food outlets, churches, and drugstores. The track ran down the center of St. Charles Avenue.

“Welcome to the Garden District in Uptown New Orleans, my mother’s neighborhood,” he said. I was astonished by yet another city within the city. Gardens enveloped mansions with Spanish moss-covered oaks.

“Mr. Delacroix, this place is so lush. It’s beautiful.”

“Lush like you, my sweet.” He ran his finger up the side of my exposed neck. I watched the world go by as his hand found my right pebble. He lightly rolled it between his fingers. My groin churned.