Mandy's He-Man (7 page)

Mandy, at first incredibly nervous about meeting JT’s father, had ended up having a wonderful night. Jon Senior was adorable, just a bigger, older version of JT.

“Who would have thought anyone could be bigger than JT?”
she had told them.

Dinner was relaxed and JT appeared happy and loving. He didn’t seem to care that his father was around as he kissed her, often, and pulled her into his lap at every opportunity. Mandy loved the way she could sit so comfortably in JT’s lap.

“You are like my own private, portable chair,” she teased him, earning another smouldering kiss in response.

Mandy looked at photographs of JT and his mother, Elaina. She was beautiful, although she looked so fragile in the candid shots, standing in between her giant men like a porcelain doll with long, black hair, blue eyes and such pale skin. Mandy was sad she would never get to meet the mother of this wonderful man. The thought brought tears to her eyes, for not only JT’s lost mother but the mother Mandy did have, who was not part of her life either, but for different reasons.

* * * *

Later that evening, when they were alone, Mandy felt the need to tell JT about her colours, wanted him to be privy to the secrets that made her who she was, but she was apprehensive. In her past experience, those few times when she had opened up and had tried to explain her gift, most had thought her a little strange because of the way her mind filled with colour in a parallel to the emotion she was feeling at the time. Mandy was never quite sure whether her mood caused her mind to react that way, or if it was the other way around.

Mandy Magenta had not always been her name. No, in her boring life back in an unremarkable suburb of Perth, boring Amanda Mary Smith had lived with her boring parents. Her mother, Ann Smith, had been a homemaker and church groupie who had spent all her free time doing one thing or another for the parish. Mandy’s father had been an accountant—yes, unimaginative William Smith continued the pattern that had made up their boring life. Chops for tea on Monday, sausages on Tuesday, Wednesday was chicken, roast on Sunday. Routine was the Smith household way.

Young Mandy—or Amanda back then—had found it hard to breathe. Her mind had been filled with only grey and white. It was at school that Mandy had found her reason for living. When she’d picked up that first crayon, way back in kindy, her world had become bright. Colours had begun to fill her mind.

Although she had been praised and acclaimed throughout her school years as a talented artist, Mandy’s parents had discouraged what they’d seen as frivolous behaviour. Ann and William had always been afraid for Mandy—they’d worried that her different-coloured eyes were an indicator of something evil. Often using this phenomenon as a reason to explain her strange and unconventional behaviour, they’d told her repeatedly that cooking or sewing and Bible study was the right path for a proper young girl to follow.

“No future to be had in drawings,” her father had repeated, over and over.

Her parents’ attempts to quell her desires had only managed to inflame them. As a rebellious teen, Mandy had dyed her hair continuously—bright pink, indigo, even cyan blue. Anything just to be different. Not boring.

Mandy loved her eyes. One iris was a dark, chocolate brown and the other was a light caramel. They made her feel unique. Mandy had discovered that the phenomenon even had a medical name—heterochromia.

Mandy had painted or sketched anything and everything. Her pièce de résistance and final act of betrayal, in the eyes of her parents, had been her painting of a giant, engorged penis. Or what Mandy had assumed one would look like. At that stage, she had only seen images of them in books. She could still see the look on her mother’s prudish face, eyes bulging in shock and horror, as she’d sputtered verses from religious texts to rid her of her evil spawn. And so Amanda had left and Mandy’s life had begun, for better or worse.

JT listened intently to her, holding her a little more tightly when she mentioned her parents, obviously trying to support her as she spoke of her unhappy childhood but his smile grew wide, with a hint of mischief showing in his eyes, as she described the flame-like effects and splashes of vibrant hues that often filled her mind when they were intimate. The way the colour reflected the heat and intensity of her responses to JT’s body.

“So, what you’re telling me, babe, is that I set your world on fire… Is that it?” He grinned smugly at her.

“Yes, He-Man, there is that. But I’ve also never felt such calming green tones as when I’m with you. You seem to evoke the most amazing rainbow in my head.”

“So…what sort of colour does—let me see—me nibbling on your scrumptious nipples evoke? Is it the good kind? What about if I pinch them like this? Mmm… I think we should experiment a little and see if we can conjure up something truly unique, what do you think, you gorgeous, remarkable woman? Let me inspire the artist in you and create our own masterpiece.”

Mandy loved the way JT was touching her and the way he understood her, believed in her. She tried to interpret the shades he was inspiring, describe them in words that he could understand, but before too long Mandy could not concentrate on her mind—it was her body that was exploding with sensations, every nerve end tingling under JT’s undivided attention.

* * * *

They had stayed in JT’s room all night. Mandy had loved the scent of JT on his sheets and pillows, but had been a little embarrassed at the sounds of their passion, knowing Jon Senior was just down the hall. It certainly hadn’t seemed to worry JT at all, as he’d moaned her name loudly more than once.

Finding both men wandering companionably around the spacious kitchen the next morning filled her heart, made her smile. As she stood watching these two mammoth men—JT wearing only pyjama bottoms, his chest bare to match his feet, while Jon Senior wore, more modestly, PJs, robe and slippers—Mandy wished her life could have been as easy with her parents. Sensing her gaze, JT turned and smiled. The warmth of that smile alone was enough to cause those now familiar fluttery feelings—needy feelings—to wash over Mandy. She was surprised by her body’s immediate response. JT had already satisfied her more than once, the last time just minutes ago.

“Hey, woman, bacon and eggs sound okay?” JT questioned Mandy, as Jon Senior pulled out a chair for her so she could sit down.

“Well, now! A good morning to you, Mandy. We’ve never had a female guest stay over before. I hope you slept well?” the older man said with a cheeky wink.

Mandy didn’t know whether to be embarrassed by the wink or delighted by his statement about her being the first woman to stay the night with JT.

It wasn’t long before Mandy was happily digging into the first breakfast any man had ever made for her, chatting away easily as if she had been there at the table with these two men her whole life.

The day ahead was busy for both Mandy and JT. She had a stall to set up, and JT was off to watch Riley compete in a swimming carnival before preparing for tonight’s game. JT dropped her off at home, leaving her to get on with her plans after a delivering a few more scorching, no-holds-barred kisses. She was comforted by the knowledge that they would see each other again in only a few hours.

* * * *

Since she had already packed and stored her newly-made jewellery safely in readiness for transport the day before, it didn’t take her long to get moving. Mandy pondered that being happy obviously made her very productive. Climbing into her little red van, she headed out to the markets, still able to smell JT’s scent on her skin. His lovemaking early that morning had been as satisfying as ever. She had joked with him about the rumour that sportsmen abstained from sex before a game, but JT had said that was only for the wimps. “My woman makes me stronger, harder…more manly
,”
he had bragged, then had proceeded to show her how hard he was, the memory of his actions alone causing her to blush. Her temperature soared so hot that Mandy was forced to turn the car air-conditioning on—and it was winter.

Mandy knew she wouldn’t have achieved much at all today if JT had been around, distracting her. She was looking forward to going to watch the Jets play tonight, joining Caitlin and Riley for the game. If Mandy was honest with herself, she was also a little terrified at the whole idea of watching her first game. After hearing from Riley what exactly JT did, it had all sounded a bit brutal to her. Mandy was also worried she wouldn’t fit in with these types of people. She was used to attracting stares with her unique appearance, but Mandy didn’t want to embarrass JT.

In a well-practiced routine, it didn’t take long for her to set up the display table full of her original and interesting designs. Metal and glass beads of all shapes and colours, intricate patterns or chunky, hand-painted enamels. All of Mandy’s jewellery was very popular. Mandy loved the idea that her designs, little pieces of her, were scattered all over the city, maybe even the country. Mandy also displayed some of her canvases. Most of her paintings were dark and haunting, and seemed to invoke strong emotions from all who looked upon them. People either loved the despair and sadness that were created in her work, or found it far too depressing to hang. 

Mandy enjoyed chatting with the fellow market stallholders about a variety of subjects. Climate change, carbon tax, conservation or politics, and even the weather were among the many topics up for discussion. Mandy was in agreement with the consensus that the day should be a busy one, as people came out and enjoyed the winter sunshine.

Mandy had always felt as if she fitted in with this mix of people. Although lately, surprisingly, she was finding other groups just as easy to get along with. These particular markets in Glebe attracted a mixture of visitors. Some had plenty of money to splash around, while others were looking for a bargain or maybe that special gift.

Mandy hoped she would sell out quickly so she could prepare for the night ahead. She wanted a good chat with Caitlin to calm her nerves. She was worrying about what she should wear and thinking that maybe she should tone down the almost masklike, very black, dramatic eye makeup she usually preferred.

When her stall table started to shake, Mandy—still slightly distracted by her own thoughts—took a moment before she finally realised something was wrong. She looked up.

Con was standing in front of her stall.

As though she was frozen in time, her mind stilled.

Went grey.

She watched in a trancelike state, unable to move as Con smashed her pretty little designs. Earrings and other pieces went flying through the air. An earring hit her on the cheek, causing a stinging sensation. But Mandy did not move.

He was yelling at her. Calling her all sorts of horrible names and blaming her for him being hurt the other night.

Threatening her…again.

“Bitch, you are so going to regret making a fool of me. This time
you
will be the one in a world of hurt, I promise you.” Con started towards her.

Mandy knew she should run, but she couldn’t seem to move. The happiness of the last few days now shattered like a mirror, jagged and splintered. She stood helplessly, quivering in fear…again.

The way to protect herself was unfathomable…

Out of the corner of her eye, Mandy noticed a young man approach. He seemed to be with an older lady—perhaps his mother—she wondered why they had stopped. Couldn’t they see that her goods were all ruined? She had nothing left to sell.

As these thoughts whirled through Mandy’s head, she saw the familiar-looking young man speaking to Con.

“Oh, no!” she cried out. The boy, even though he looked fit and healthy, was still slight compared to Con. He was going to get hurt. The horrible thought that the unsuspecting boy could be harmed finally dragged Mandy back into reality. As she stepped forward to warn the boy and his mother, and to confront her ex, Con fell to the ground.

It was the birthday boy from the other night.

JT’s friend.

And he had flattened Con in one quick jab.

What was his name?
Rookie, or something?
Mandy tried to remember.

The woman accompanying Rookie started towards her, arms outstretched, as if about to comfort Mandy.

“What have I done?” Mandy cried.

The woman put her arms around Mandy’s shoulders and, in a soothing voice, spoke. “There, there, you haven’t done anything. My name is Laura Harris. That is my son Mitchell, the one who put that oaf on his behind. Are you okay, sweetie? Did he hurt you?”

Mandy couldn’t help it. Her body was going into shock and she started to shake. She was sobbing uncontrollably by the time the police arrived on the scene.

Finally, managing to pull herself together a little, Mandy started rambling to the caring stranger. Words tumbled from her mouth fast and confusingly, almost irrationally.

“I’m so sorry… Your son… Oh, no, look—the police are here, why are they are arresting him? It’s all my fault. He was my ex-boyfriend. JT is going to be so upset.” Mandy sobbed through each garbled statement. “What about tonight’s game? How will Mitchell play if he is in jail? How will you ever forgive me? He shouldn’t have got involved…although I’m thankful he did. I’m so scared of Con. I try not to be, but he’s hurt me so much. I need to talk to them…tell them not to arrest him… Your son, I mean.”

“Hush now, dear…” Laura Harris spoke to Mandy in a soft, soothing voice, all the while rubbing Mandy’s back in small, circular movements. “It will be okay. You know big Jon Thomson, do you? Hmm, I see. Are you the girl from the other night? You poor thing. How awful! My boy told me all about what that brute did to you. I’m glad Mitch thumped him. He deserved a lot more, manhandling a woman like that. I’m proud of my son standing up for you…so don’t you worry about the police. I’m sure everything will be okay when they hear what that man has been doing to you.”

Laura continued as she started picking up Mandy’s wares, “Look at these pretty little pieces—some seemed to be unharmed. I‘ll help you straighten things up while everything else gets sorted out.”