Hurting Elena
by
Copyright©
2012, Harland
Sinclair
Published by Living Books USA
Smashwords Edition
NOTE: This work
contains language or material unsuitable for persons under the age of
eighteen (18) or those of a sensitive disposition. By
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author or publisher.
This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons whether living or deceased, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Hurting Elena
Author’s Note: I have included this story in my series not so much for its sexual content, but because it has an unfortunate and sad outcome that was governed entirely by Fate. So if the lady in question, by another cruel trick of fate, happens to recognize herself in this story, all will be revealed and you will know what actually happened, for which I am deeply regretful. We could have been great together.
* * *
I had just moved into a new apartment complex in the ‘Bronx’ – the local name for an area of the city where bikers, teenagers, hippies and drug-dealers hung out. Being a biker myself, for me it was perfect.
I had been living about four blocks further down the road, but now I was right in center of town; just where I needed to be. This was where all the action was. This was where all the fun was, and this was where all the girls were!
What better reason is there to move when you’re a man in your early twenties?
I was working as a research chemist for a large pharmaceutical company, one who made the number 486 more famous than did Intel themselves years later, albeit for more sinister reasons.
To keep in shape and as exercise, I used to do Taekwon-Do, a Korean form of martial arts, although it was originally conceived as a kind of workout for monks on their long-distance walks to pilgrimages.
During one Taekwon-Do session, I was doing push-ups on my knuckles - as you do - when unfortunately, my middle knuckle slipped into the small gap between the tiles on the floor. This was enough to put excessive pressure on the area, and I developed a bursa – inflammation and swelling in the gap between the joints.
I put up with this for a few months, but it finally became unsightly as it had enlarged and was also quite painful. My doctor arranged for me to have it surgically removed.
After the surgery (which was a success), the doctor explained that there was a single suture that ran under and over the knuckle to hold it in place, which had been tied in a knot on the top. This suture was due for removal some ten days later.
To protect the knuckle, I wore a fingerless leather glove which caused many people to think I was trying to be another Michael Jackson, except that there really was a purpose for my wearing a glove. It sits in my closet to this day.
This particular evening, I had decided to visit a new bar which was located directly across the road from where I now lived. It was a strange place (which I only discovered once I was in there) that was frequented primarily by bi-sexual women. This was quite unusual for the time and was before the world had heard of HIV or AIDS.
So I ordered a beer, sat on a bench that ran the length of the wall that overlooked the street, and began to read a book I had brought along (if I recall, it was titled “Down To a Sunless Sea”).
I just wanted to get out of the apartment for a while and wasn’t particularly looking to meet anyone. I was just going to have a few beers and then go home again, after stopping at Fontana (an all-night deli) to order a toasted chicken mayonnaise sandwich, which were very popular and delicious.
A short while later, my knuckle began to feel a little strange, so I removed the glove to have a look. The suture had somehow worked loose and the wound was slightly open. This was not good. I had to get it tied closed again really quickly to prevent infection.
Although the injury was to my right hand and I am a ‘Southpaw’, I was nevertheless finding it extremely difficult to tie a knot in the suture with my left hand only. Have you ever to tie a knot with one hand? This is the reason we are one step above the apes – we have opposable thumbs; useful for tying knots and holding guns.
I had noticed a very pretty woman standing at the bar, talking to someone. She was noticeable as she had a phenomenal body. He choice of black, skin-tight Lycra leggings together a tight, pink knitted top, did wonders for her figure.
She had a firm rear-end with long, slender legs and an amazing rack; big, round and firm. She also had a mass of long blonde hair the colour of a sunset that reached to the waistband of her leggings at the back. She really was quite stunning, and in a way, her face reminded me of the prissy little blonde from the TV show, “Dallas” – remember that?
Unfortunately, as this was a bar frequented by ‘funny’ women, I had naturally assumed her to be a dyke and thought no more of it. I suspected she would have as interest in me as I did in other men.
Unbeknownst to me, this lady had surreptitiously been watching me as I struggled with my suture, and came over to ask if she could help me.
I was most grateful as I’d been wrestling with the suture for about ten minutes and was becoming quite frustrated. I did not want to go to the ER and have them close it for me. I didn’t need the four-hour wait time and the bill equivalent to a new mortgage.
If I thought this woman was good looking from where I was sitting, she was even more beautiful close up and I found her closeness quite disturbing, even erotic. I was finding it very difficult not to look at her great breasts and slim legs while she tied the knot in my suture.
I thanked her and expected her to leave, but instead, she asked if I was alone and when I said yes she asked if she could buy me a drink and sit with me.
Huh? This amazing woman actually wanted to buy me a drink and sit with me? Had I died and gone to heaven?
Now, at this stage, I do have to explain something about me without sounding big-headed or egotistical, but I was, at the time, a male model. In those days it very different from what it is today. Back then it was a well-paid job and a lot of fun. Now there are all manner of connotations attached to it, i.e. gay, etc.
Ironically, I was also a ‘hand’ model, meaning that my hands were often used for close-up shots of men holding a variety of commercial products. I had done work for Slazenger tennis racquets, Minolta cameras, Dunhill cigarette lighters and a slew of others, too numerous to mention. On reflection, I suppose I had ‘the look’ that was in demand for the times. Most of the work I took was modelling men’s suits, jumpers, jackets and so on for magazines. I could often earn more in a one-hour modelling session than I could in a week at my regular job!
I have many great stories about my time as a model, but I’ll save those for later, as most of them are of a sexual nature and not really relevant to this particular story (which is true).
So, based on this information, I had to assume that as she hadn’t spoken to me yet that her decision to flirt with me had been based entirely on my looks (which turned out to be true, she confessed.)
I accepted her invitation of a drink and she returned from the bar with our drinks, sat down in the chair in front of me and crossed her legs. There were tables dotted all along the bench at intervals with three chairs at each table, allowing for a party of four people at each table.
I did find it strange when I first noticed her, that she appeared to be in deep conversation with the woman at the bar, whom I assumed to be her ‘friend’. It turned out that ‘the other woman’ really was just a friend, but who was lesbian, and had merely invited her to the bar just to have a look.
She introduced herself as Elena, and said that she was a radiologist. I found this interesting as my own degrees are medical in nature. Also, I had never met a female radiologist before.