Fire & Flesh

by Kerri Carr

  “I’ve studied statues of ancient goddesses, and I’m sure none of them compare to the complexities and beauty of you, Tally,” Miller says. His words dumbfound me. I could have sworn that Raymond said something very similar about his love for me in one of his broadcasts.

  “I’m just an ordinary woman,” I say. My feet have begun to tremble against the cool ground. “There’s really nothing special about me.”

  “If only you knew what I knew, Tally,” he says. What could he possibly mean? I’ve only known him for a week.

  My pattered breaths have caught up with me, and as I exhale firmly it’s like he breathes me in. His mouth is now a vacuum pulling me closer with his inhale. A few of my hairs get sucked up between our lips as they embrace again. This is now the second kiss. It’s somehow more intense than the first because we both know what we’re doing. This one is not spur of the moment. The second kiss is planned—a mutual decision.

  His hand slides down to my belly, and my insecurities about the baby go haywire. Miller lets his fingertips linger near my naval. I’m not sure if he holds his hand in this position because he is afraid to go lower to touch the moisture between my legs, or because he’s trying to feel the child inside me. Either way, my body is torn between wanting him to touch me lower and get up and go home so I can cry over a bowl of pistachio ice cream.

  “If we touch each other, is it going to be weird for me to keep working here? I’m afraid of what is going to happen.”

  “I think you’re mistaking fear for confusion, Tally,” he says. “I’m not afraid to be intimate with you, but I am confused about where our relationship will stand after I am.”

  “Where do you want our relationship to stand?” I haven’t even thought about the potential outcomes. Sure, I’ve been mildly attracted to Miller since meeting him, but I just figured it was because I haven’t been out of the house in so long. The truth is that I know there aren’t many men like him. Kind. Sweet. Intelligent. A scientist.

  I pivot on my hip so that my chest presses against his. In the repositioning of my body, Miller’s hand has made its way to my pants. He unbuttons them, and once the flesh of his fingers smooth across my groin I reach down and take his shaft into my grasp.

  It’s so hard that I feel the veins throbbing as I grip tighter. For some reason I don’t want to look into Miller’s eyes quite yet. My gaze is glued to his erection in my hand, and the center of his dick staring straight at me. The heat his hard-on gives me generates a piston like motion in my elbow, and I start stroking him slowly. Meanwhile he toys with my pussy by tickling the outer rim of it, sticking to the surface of my thighs before making the jump to my sticky bud.

  “I want you to put your finger in me, Miller.”

  “I plan on it. I’m just working up to it because I’ve wanted to touch you for a long time.”

  “Have you?” I don’t want to admit that I’ve been longing for the same things. Watching him pot flowers and tend to the trees only made me long to feel the strength of his fingers more.

  Finally, there is no more teasing. The tip of his index finger finds the opening of my center and inches its way in. Now that my hand is around his cock and his finger is inside my pussy, I need to lunge upward and draw his lips into the chasm of my mouth.

  “I can’t believe how wet you are,” he says, his voice stretching out each word and letting it drift into my ear. The knuckle of his thumb rubs against my clit and he bites down onto my earlobe—I can’t help but tap my boots against the floor. My legs are shaking so hard that the rhythm from Miller’s pulsing shaft becomes the tempo of my shy moans.

  “I never let a man touch me if I didn’t love him,” I say. I don’t know where that statement comes from; Raymond’s face instantly pops into my mind and I feel the judgment of betrayal.

  “Your love will never go unnoticed with me.” He kissed my temple, and then my forehead. The affection he gives from his eyes and lips is even more intense than the intricate work he does with his index finger and thumb. All I can do is spit on my hand and return my hand to his dick, lather it with my saliva, and jerk it smoothly.

  “If you cum that’s okay,” I say. I feel so stupid saying it, like a total prude who’s never experienced sex.

  “I think you could make that happen,” he says. “I want to make the same thing. I want to make you orgasm, Tally.”

  My eyelids flutter because his finger delves deeper into me, and when I least expect it he inserts his middle finger as well. With two fingers inside of me and his thumb circling my clitoris like clockwork, I’m barely comprehensible. “Miller,” I moan. “It’s like you know the perfect way to touch me.”

  “Feeling your hand against me and hearing your breath is enough to bring me to climax,” he says. I believe him. Although I cannot maintain focus on anything at the moment because I’m on the brink of explosion, I do catch his eyes straining while he watches me crumble at his touch. My hand taps the ground as if I’m some kind of wrestler trying to escape the ring—and my hand starts stroking twice as fast because I can’t control the impulse of my ligaments.

  “I’m about to cum,” I yelp. I hate how I sound, but he’s working me so perfectly that there is no longer an opportunity to perform. All I can do is let out my primal sounds and movements while Miller releases the secretion from my pussy.

  *****

  When I open my eyes, Miller has me in his arms. It sounds like he’s fast asleep based on the volume of his snoring. Strangely he seems to be dozing with his eyes open, as the faded emerald colored orbs drift in my direction.

  “Are you awake?” I ask. I keep my voice low but he snorts until his consciousness snaps back to reality.

  “I think I may have fallen asleep,” he admits. “However, I was dreaming that you and I were on an island. I don’t know the name of the island, but the skies were blue and we were tethered together in a hammock. I believe we had beverages with pineapple and rum.”

  “That sounds like perfection.” Miller has the familiar haziness of a man who just came out of a peaceful rest. Before falling asleep I made him orgasm, and his spunk has long dried upon my thigh. I’ve forgotten the simple pleasure of two people making each other orgasm with nothing more than their own hands. This feeling is more peaceful and calming than a lot of the sex I had with Raymond. It’s not that sex with Raymond was bad—in fact, I will never forget nights in Tokyo moaning in the early hours of the morning because we were so infatuated with the satisfaction from our lust.

  “You made me feel amazing,” he says, running his fingers through my unruly hair. To my own embarrassment, I feel my eyeliner smeared from the tears I couldn’t fight during my orgasm. Miller’s thumb traces the shadowy line from my eye to my cheekbone. “You are so incredibly gorgeous, Tally. I do believe you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I can’t hide the blood rushing to my cheeks. I’m not used to flattery. Even Ray kept his admiration for me to himself. His broadcasts, however, were filtered with his undying love for me. Now they’re all I have left of the way he felt for me. I plan to show them to our baby one day.

  “Then I guess you haven’t seen a lot of women.” Whenever a man tries to compliment me I can’t help but resort to humorous awkward mode.

  “You’re silly,” he laughs, releasing me gently from his strong arms. He doesn’t let my head fall to the soil; he waits for me to gather myself from my own sleep state and helps me up with both hands. “But just remember that what I say is true. The way I was raised I didn’t really have the chance to beat around the bush.”

  Buttoning his pants back up, I mirror him and try to act as casual as possible. “I believe what you say. It’s just that I’m in a transitional period in my life. With the baby and everything I haven’t been myself.”

  “I want you to know that whatever you need I want to be there for you. I respect you and appreciate you. I know that you haven’t told me everything, and that’s fine. I don’t need to know everything in order to c
are about you. You have a baby on the way and the father isn’t around. I know that much. You don’t seem like the kind of woman who would give herself to a man only to divorce him, so I’m left to assume that your husband must have passed.”

  Somewhere during his speech more tears erupted from my eyes, and my sniffling triggers Miller to each up and wipe my nose. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want you to try to speak through tears. I’ve got to tend to the Obedons before sunset. You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’d like. I could use help watering and trimming them. But you’re more than welcome to take the afternoon off, Tally. I can hold things down here.”

  “I’d rather stay with you for a while and learn more about the Obedons.” A smile stretches across his face and he bounces his eyes downward to the floor. He nods his head toward the greenhouse door, signaling for me to follow him. I let him take a few paces before I follow, and I instantly release a chuckle at the soil outlining his butt.

  I can’t believe what just happened, but the fact that we’re both so dirty brings humor to the situation. I follow Miller into the greenhouse and watch as he measures water and vitamins to give to the towering, neon-colored Obedons.

  *****

  Ever since being intimate with Miller I wake up in the middle of the night dreaming about exotic plants. Sometimes they attack me. Sometimes I cut them up and make divine salads out of them. In fact, a lot of the dreams consist of eating the Obedons, for some unknown reason.

  I’ve tried to explain the plants to my mother, but she can’t quite grasp the concept of exactly how brilliant they are. I’ve spent so many hours trying to figure out where the plants come from that I would be considered insane if I were to research any longer. Other than Miller’s warnings about not eating plants that he doesn’t approve of, his next most protective rule is to keep the plants, especially the Obedons, a secret. He even made me sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement stating that I am legally not allowed to speak about any of the plants I am exposed to while working with him.

  If I were to tell Ray about this kind of thing, he’s create some crazy broadcast with a conspiracy theory about how Miller was experimenting with radioactive energy on the plants. That would be the day, and perfectly healthy for my baby, considering I drank some of his juice. I swear that it produced a cleansing sensation unlike any nutrient I’ve ever taken into my body. Ingesting it was like a super vitamin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that even the one sip made me more intelligent and physically powerful.

  Examples of this? I’ve been working more quickly and efficiently when I’m at the greenhouse, my body feels more rested every day, and I have nearly twice as much energy as I normally do. There was a momentary speculation I had that it could all be due to the orgasm Miller gave me. I don’t want to be quick to underestimate the powers of a good sexual appetite.

  Even though I spent the night after our intimacy overthinking what would happen to our relationship, the next day was not awkward at all. In fact, when I sat down to my desk there was a bundle of pink roses waiting for me with a little card that read, “Tally, every day I am glad that you are around.”

  He walked by with his cheeks as pink as the roses and didn’t say a word. “What’s the matter, Miller?” I asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

  And thus began our playful transition into something definitely more than boss and employee, but not quite boyfriend and girlfriend. Miller kept up with cute gestures, mostly plants, cute notes, and snacks. However, one day I was watering buddleias and he walked up behind me only to sneak a kiss as soon as I turned around. It lasted a fraction of a second and he even played it off as if nothing happened, turning back around without another word until lunch.

  It’s been going on like this, slowly unwinding like a spool of thread, for days. I figured it is finally time to tell him about Raymond. I can only lie awake at night staring of the moon with my heart torn between two men and my child belonging to one for so long. I’ve dropped hints to Miller here and there. For example, when I started working at the greenhouse I still wore my wedding band. However, after the day we were intimate I took it off. I couldn’t keep wearing it and pretending to be faithful to my husband who is long gone. Touching Miller and making each other orgasm was more than just a fulfillment of lust for me; it was also what my body and mind needed to realize that my late husband is gone for good and that I am ready to move on.

  I arrived early so that I could take care of the mail, phone calls, orders and paperwork before Miller comes in so that we will have time to talk. I get done in an hour what usually takes me half of the day. Seriously I think something has been up with my ability to process like lately. The problem is that I’ve been enjoying it and can’t help but wonder if Miller’s juice actually has something to do with it.

  Since he’s not here I figure it won’t hurt to take a peak into the little fridge where he keeps all his juices, or tinctures, as he calls them. There are rows of them in their own glass bottles: green ones, blue ones, pink ones, purple ones, and red ones. What could all of them be for? I wonder. They slightly resemble the shades of the Obedon trees.

  For some reason the pink one calls my name. It looks like he has them all counted so if I take one from its place Miller will definitely notice one missing. I just can’t take my eyes off of the pink glow. Although I know that it will not taste like bubble gum, the color of the liquid seems to form the taste in my mouth.

  Like a little girl in a candy store I reach forward, take the first pink bottle, pop the cap, and put the cool liquid to my mouth. Instead of bubble gum, it tastes like a mixture of grapefruit, strawberry, licorice, pomegranate, and passion fruit. I am suddenly taken back to getting ice cream with my father and eating it so fast that I would be paralyzed by a brain-freeze. The cool juice is smooth running down my throat, and the brain freeze does kick in but I cannot stop chugging the liquid until the entire bottle is gone.

  I instantly release a loud belch that burns from the acidity of what I assume to be grapefruit juice in the tincture. I wonder what the nutritional benefit of the pink one is supposed to be. I remember Miller telling me about the various methods he employed when creating the juices and that he kept a key somewhere to help him log the evolving effects of each mixture.

  My first thought is that my heart rate starts to increase but I remember Miller telling me it was only an enhanced perception on my body’s part. The clock above Miller’s desk reads 7:55 so I only have five minutes to search for this key before he walks in at 8:00 on the dot. I rifle through his desk drawers but the papers seem to be drawings, sketches, and even languages that I cannot understand. I’ve never seen writings like this before. One of the documents in his desk is a green, moldy parchment that stretches out for at least four feet.

  Now that I’ve become aware of time my ears refuse to let go of the ticking of the clock. The room around splits itself and I realize that I have double vision. Sit down, Tally, I think. I try to reach for the wood of the desk or Miller’s leather chair, but the next thing I know the room around me becomes shadow and I’m fairly certain that I’ve blacked out.

  *****

  I dream that I am flying in a plane to Iceland and I am sitting next to Raymond. He’s in the middle of a broadcast, sitting in the middle aisle of the plane with his microphone and laptop out narrating the entire catastrophe. I know that it’s a dream because in real life Raymond wouldn’t put his work before me in the face of death. The windows of the plane are sucked out by some vortex and before I have the chance to say goodbye to Raymond he’s sucked out of the plane too. All of the other people, hundreds of faceless people, are sucked out after him until I’m the only one on board the plane.

  After the people, the insides of the plane are sucked out through the window to my right. Now I’m floating in mid air, still strapped into my seat, ascending higher and higher until I’m in outer space.

  Soaring above the Earth I look down and I have no more fear than if I were on a roll
er coaster. I know that I’m going to fall and that my stomach will turn but I do not fear death. As I fall downward and am sucked back into the gravitational pull I hear a voice calling my name that I can only assume to be the voice of my future child.

  I feel the familiar sensation of being pulled into a vacuum, and when I open my eyes the stars and blackness of the cosmos enter me and become part of my soul. My eyelids are forced open and the continuum of space flows downward through my body into my uterus. The world comes into focus and I see Miller’s face looking up at me.

  Now I realize what the sensation truly is—Miller’s tongue swirling laps around my clitoris. “Oh God!” I scream. I’m not astounded by the fact that Miller is going down on me—I’m astounded by the fact that his eyes are no longer a translucent green. Now they are brighter than light bulbs—still green but glowing hot as coals.

  Not only that but the veins that pulsate from his neck have begun to shine with the same radiance. Am I hallucinating? I can’t believe that the pink juice would have this kind of effect on me.

  “Miller, what is happening?” I beg. My legs tremble on either side of his face. His tongue is lodged inside of my pussy and he sucks vigorously, my clit getting pulled in the warp of his mouth’s funnel. He doesn’t take his face away, but as his hand reaches up beyond my breasts I notice his fingers stretching longer than humanly possible. The ends of his fingers are the same color green as his eyes, and although the rhythmic writhing of his tongue inside my center fills my nerves with a volcanic bliss, I’m still distraught by my fundamental understanding of reality breaking before me.

  The green extensions of his fingers sprout little leaves as they continue around my neck, up my face, and around my head. One of his fingers, or vines, or whatever they are, enters my mouth and it tastes like the minty goodness from the green juice I drank the day we touched each other. Another one of the vines enters my ear and presses into my canal—the pressure would hurt in theory, but it consistently feels like a pleasant cotton swab cleaning.