Temptation

"That make-up is rather outrageous," he tells her.

Her face is painted white, with large black cat eyes, resembling a mask. Her widows peak has been enlarged with black to travel half-way down her forehead in the manner of a vampire. She has broad black triangles that follow her check bones like violent slashes. Her hair has been teased and sprayed to stand practically on end. There are small fangs painted below her lower lip. The effect is frightening and monstrous, which is, of course, the point.

He takes another swig of the beer he's drinking and leans against the wall beside her. She has not seen him in month or so, she doesn't know what has kept him from the theater company during this time. In fact, doesn't know much about him at all. They had initially gotten along rather well. She found him funny and charming, and his interest in her had been rather obvious. But once he found out she was only fifteen, he had definitely kept his distance from her. Not that she'd attempted to hide this fact. She'd told him within the first week they'd met, and it really hadn't occurred to her that he'd be six years her senior. They had hit it off so well, it really was quite a shame. While the difference in their ages is not nearly as much of a problem for her as it is for him, she recognizes the significance of it. For him to touch her is illegal, and what he might expect from her is more than she is ready to give.

"So, screaming like that doesn't make you lose your voice?" he asks.

She only has a small role in the haunted house show they're staging. She screams and dies repeatedly as the groups of people come through over the course of the night. But it's fun and a bit of thrill, nonetheless. They've just wrapped the show for the evening and her throat shows no signs of soreness after the dozen or so blood-curdling screams she's given tonight on top of the ones from the previous several nights.

She laughs, "No, my voice seems to hold up just fine. It's a gift I guess."

He half-smiles, but it quickly fades. There is definitely something off in his mood tonight. He seems agitated as he stands next to her. There's a seriousness in him, a tightness in his face and eyes, that is a noticeable change from his normally cavalier and jovial attitude. Mike is a born performer, avid juggler and loves to make people laugh, but you'd never guess that from his sullen demeanor right now.

He turns to look at her and she quickly glances away, realizing how intensely she'd been studying him. He places the bottle on the ground and stands in front of her, looking at her questioningly, almost visibly arguing with himself. She stares back at him evenly, wondering what he's even doing here talking to her. Not only has it been more than a month since she's seen him, he'd avoided being alone with her in the weeks prior to that. To say he'd given her a wide berth didn't even quite explain it. It was if finding out her age was the equivalent of discovering she was a leper. She had hoped he'd at least be willing to be friendly with her, but he hadn't seemed interested in, or wasn't capable of being her friend.

They stand there for a moment, regarding each other closely and silently, understanding the dilemma between them. He begins to turn away from her, then changes his mind and places his hands firmly on either side of her head, pulling her in close and kissing her deeply.

The taste of beer spreads into her mouth as she returns his kiss. The warmth of his mouth on hers taking away the chill of the cool night air. She stays in this moment, willing herself not to analyze what it means, or more aptly, what she instinctively knows it does not mean. Allowing herself to soften against him, enjoying the passion that had immediately been there between them the first time they met.

She had been leaning against the make-shift wall of the outdoor theater, watching a performance of Dangerous Liaisons. She'd always loved the role of the Marquise de Meurteuil and the actress was seasoned and played it to the nines. How many audience members watched and loved the Marquise? Was it wrong, to admire and find bemusement in the sexual villain of the play? To play such a role, to be so deliciously evil, it must be so much fun.

As she had stood on the darkened platform at the back of the theater, she'd becomes aware that someone was watching her. He had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her, dressed in period costume. She'd glanced at him, taking in the shirt with the ruffles and velvet knickers. It's not every day you see a man in velvet knickers. Then turned her attention back to the performance. The Marquise and the Vicomte were laying out the details of their sinister bet, doing their seductive little dance, each playing on and denying the attraction between them. She had been drawn into the dramatic moment of the play, momentarily forgetting her own audience at the bottom of the stairs, fully expecting that he was just wandering around the theater and would soon be on his way. But when she had turned toward the stairs again, he hadn't moved. In fact, his head had been cocked at precisely the same angle, and he'd been watching her closely.

So, she had walked down the stairs to introduce herself. She had just started volunteering at the theater company and hadn't met too many of the members yet. As she made her way down the stairs, he shook his head at her, seemingly not wanting her to continue. She had ignored him and proceeded to the bottom of the stairs.

"You didn't need to come down. I was enjoying watching you," he'd told her.

"Oh, well, I'm not comfortable being stared at," she had responded, not sure what to make of his honesty. "I'm Veronica, I don't believe we've met."

"Michael, at your service," he'd bowed with a flourish of his arm and kissed her hand.

"I take it you're in the play," she said, smiling.

"Yes, small role. Only part of the second act," he'd explained. "Some of us are going out after the show. Would you like to join us?" he'd asked.

"Okay, but I'd need a ride home afterward," she responded.

"I believe that could be arranged," he'd smiled and winked at her, then headed towards the backstage area.

It had all started so promisingly, so innocently. The shock and horror on his face when she'd told him her age had made his feelings perfectly clear. And just in case she was slow, his avoidance of her would have driven the point home. She understood his response though, because he was a decent guy, and this was the way for a decent guy to behave when discovering the latest woman to have garnered his attention was fifteen-year-old girl. And she admired him for his conviction and acting on his morals, which only made the whole situation more disappointing for her, and made him more attractive to her.

Now she stands here, continuing to kiss him, knowing that he is not himself. Understanding that something or someone has torn down his defenses today, and he is no longer able to resist the temptation of her. She succumbs along with him, giving in to the temptation willingly. His tongue on her neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He kisses her gently this time, she can feel him pulling away now. He presses his forehead against her, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. He stands and looks down at her, his brows furrowed, and she can tell he's regaining his composure now.

"I'm sorry," he says shaking his head. "I didn't mean . . . do you need a ride home?" he asks her.

She nods and he takes her hand and leads her to his car. She knows his offer is being made for gentlemanly reasons. He is not looking to take things further with her, would likely take back the last few minutes if he could. But he can't. So he'll take her home, and deliver her safely, almost apologetically. In front of her house, he leans over and kisses her, chastely this time.

"I wish you were a few years older," he admits honestly.

"I know," she tells him.

She gets out of the car and walks herself to her door, not waiting to see if he would accompany her. She may be new at this, but she does not need anymore of the chaste chivalry he's willing to offer her. Nor, is she ready to see is she can break his moral compass and try to change his mind. It is, after all, one of the qualities she likes most about him. She stands in front of the bathroom mirror, her black and white make-up now streaked across her face. Her pink lips look odd and starkly naked amidst all the paint. She begins to wash and gray streaks run down her face.

Comments

[Bookgirl]

Your writing makes me jealous. Every time. You so perfectly captured that feeling of teenage innocence meeting sexual possiiblity. I think if we had known our own power as teenagers, and used it, it would have had the force of the atomic bomb.

[Diosa]

Thanks, Bookgirl. Adolescence is such a difficult time, but it can also be quite wonderful. I do clearly remember being torn between my childhood innocence and my raging hormones. And yes, we had a great deal of power back then, probably a good deal of it because we didn't recognize it.

[Liz]

Wow, this is really good. I hate reading the end because I dont want it to be over. Keep it coming.

[Diosa]

Liz, thanks for the encouragement.