The Story Slice: Maureen: Part II

by Brian Hughes

Now that Cahil had grown into a fully confident thirty-year old man, free of morose depression, free of misguided and safe internet romances that always seemed to lead to unreal expectations and even more unreal profiles, free of a job that locked him into an office cubicle: why then was he not satisfied to settle down with the girl of his dreams? Why did he need to travel three thousand miles to bed three different girls?

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Cotter, his ol’ friend from his journalism school days, asked. “You have a great gal, low maintenance, self sufficient, and real fun to be around. Not only that, she’s hot as fuck!”
“You’re right on all of those accounts: all of them,” acknowledged Cahil has he stared down at his half eaten buffalo burger. They usually had their big discussions at the Broadway Restaurant at 100th street and Broadway. Cotter liked to dress like an ol’ school journalist, with slick hair and a pair of suspenders and a striped collared shirt, pen and notepad sticking out of the pocket, and a toothpick perpetually sticking out of his mouth. Cahil pulled out a flight itinerary and held it up to Cotter. “You see this?”
“Yep.”
“The City Savior is flying me out to Los Angeles to interview the train wreck, hotter than hot, R&B singer Brenda Burgundy, an interview that can really help catapult my career, and all I can think of are Heather’s breasts, Alex's coy and virginal ass, and Colleen’s sexy flirtations; that and how I missed out on those great experiences because of my useless neuroses that I allowed to trap and torture me unnecessarily. I had immense sexual opportunity, and because of the funk I was in, I blew all of these opportunities of fine ass. Chicks dug me and flirted with me, and I know they were disappointed in me. I’d flirt with them, and smile in their direction, and it always led to nowhere, because I was scared. I would not allow myself to fuck, or have fun, or experience life to its fullest. But I feel strong, Cotter, I feel like I have gained something in this relationship that I didn’t have when I was around all those girls. There is unfinished business that is knawing at my insides that I have to settle before I set off on that mysterious, challenging and rewarding life that is marriage and family.”
“But that is just your ego talking, Cahil, can’t you see it? You have all the love, and with due respect – tits and ass, any human being could possibly need. You have all of the things you long for in Janeen.”
Cahil pushed his food aside and drained his coffee.
“I know, I know for Christ’s sake! It just pisses me off that these wonderful girls were dangled like gold right in front of my face and I let it all slip through my fingers.”
“You don’t need it, I tell ya, you don’t need it!” Cotter implored. “Interview Brenda Burgundy, marry Janeen, and become the best rock journalist of your generation.”
Cahil wasn’t listening. “Do you know if Maureen is going to the Alberto St. Croix after party?”

Cahil stood stoically handsome against a faux Roman column at Complex grinning at Maureen as she danced crazy sexy with a few of her friends: her milky skin shining with perspiration under blue lights. Cahil sauntered over, Jack on the rocks in his hand. Maureen was looking him up and dawn as she bit her lip and got down to the music – swaying her head – maroon, curly hair bouncing. When she awoke from her dance reverie, she grabbed Cahil’s Jack, finished it, then she let it fall empty at their feet. Cahil was soon in the middle of Maureen and her friend’s bump and grind factory. Cahil however, only had eyes for Maureen. Maureen was his only East Coast conquest, and he had to fuck her that night.

Maureen was nestled in Cahil’s arms on her hassock. They hadn’t had sex, but were enjoying some fine green tea.
“I’m confused,” Maureen said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know what direction my life is going in. I’m going to be thirty-one and I’m still in school, studying Spanish Literature, and …”
“… and so …?”
“… and what am I? A professional student?”
“You’re smart as hell, funny, beautiful and so much more. So you’re confused – join the club. I want to be a novelist and screenwriter, yet I have to go out to California to interview this crack whore of a singer.”
“What’s up with her anyway? She’s always in the news! I’m so fed up with hearing about her problems. Is she pregnant? Is she mental? Did she OD? Fuuuuuuuck ….”
“Yeah, I know, and I have to pretend I care when I interview her. Look at all the dough she has. And you think you’re confused?”
“I know…”
“There is no reason why you can’t be living a great life: you are college educated and have lots of passion: you should be in a line of work that fulfills you, not just financially, but spiritually as well. What is that thing that is calling you? What is your passion? What motivates you? You may have to make a list and center in on what you really like, because sometimes we have too many choices and it can get very confusing.”
Maureen was smiling. She felt very cozy nestled up against Cahil: his breath puffing out against the back of her ear, his arm firmly around her waist.
“I feel so … you make me feel so warm and safe. You always have. You always have words that make me feel good. A girl could get really addicted to you.”
“You make me feel the same way Maureen.”
Maureen collected Russian Dolls. Cahil was eyeing her collection.
“I have to admit, your Russian dolls give me a bit of the creeps.”
Maureen laughed as she reached out for one on her shelf and handed it to him. “They are called Matryoshka dolls. They are named after a female Russian name Matryona, which is kind of associated with fat, farming women.”
“Very interesting.”
“That set you have there are peasant women: go ahead – undress them, if you will.”
Cahil grinned as he opened up the first peasant woman, all the while eyeing Maureen. He opened up the second and the third after that. Unable to contain themselves any longer, they were soon locked by the mouth with passionate kisses. Lowering themselves to the blue carpet, they bagan removing each other’s clothing when Cahil stopped:
“What’s wrong?” Maureen asked.
“This is … I don’t know … I don’t know if I should do this …” Cahil said, as the thought of what he was doing with Maureen, in essence, placing her on his trophy wrack, started churning guilty feelings inside him.
“You need to do this. You need to do this right now,” Maureen said.
Maureen was quivering with lustful excitement.
“Yes, you’re absolutely right,” Cahil said, as they resumed a fuck that had been several years in the making.

It was 4:38 in the morning when Cahil awoke from an accidental nap. Maureen was in a coma sleep. He stared at her bountiful body, lying there naked on its side. He could not believe he was staring at Maureen naked beside him. He slowly moved off the bed and placed his underwear back on. The heat pipes were making a racket and the room was burning up. Cahil opened her window a smidge and began dressing. After a few minutes a sports car pulled up to the traffic light outside. The sound of Brenda Burgundy’s smash hit was blaring into the night.

California was calling.

For Part I of this story - click here.