Suburban Cyborg

by Gloria Martin

  “Hm, I’m glad you said that. It’s so hard to tell sometimes, and it’s kind of awkward when you go for the lips and end up with nothing but cheek.”

  She moved her head the slightest distance toward him and he closed the rest of the way for a tender kiss, and then another, and then one that turned into a heated exploration that seemed to ebb but then flowed harder until it broke in the warm air of their excited breathing. She wrapped her arms further around him; laid her head on his shoulder, and felt his hard torso press against hers.

  “I’d like to see you again sometime,” he said, “if that’s alright with you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  *****

  Kirk watched the door close behind Linda, then ambled back to his apartment. The ambling part took some effort because what he wanted to do was jump, pump his fist, skip, run, dance—anything but amble. He wanted to unleash a war cry, or at least a victory whoop, but he stayed quiet, enjoyed the silhouette of trees against the pale moonlight, and thought of a poem by Yeats about heaven’s cloths inwrought with golden and silver light. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

  Love was a dream he tried to pretend didn’t matter. He had dated plenty of women, but due to his job, he usually did not commit. That wasn’t going to happen this time. He would retire if he had to, but that probably wouldn’t happen. His current position didn’t require travel as often or for as long as his past deployments and his CIA boss really wanted him to join the team as a contractor. His future was secure, and he wanted Linda in it. He always told people that he rejected the idea of fate or of a single soulmate for every person, but there was something about her that fit just right. His mind was whispering: She’s the one, she’s the one.

  As she had promised, Linda called Maureen as soon as she had completed her victory dance. She walked around the apartment with one hand over her heart and one to her ear as she related the evening’s events, minus the alias disclosure, to her friend. Maureen marveled that Linda had mustered the self-control to not rush her new hunk into bed—after all, he’d already seen her practically naked, so the window shopping phase was over.

  After the phone call, Linda went to the bedroom to change, but ended up smiling and turning in front of the mirrored closet door, overjoyed with just how damn good she looked. She needed a hundred more dresses like this one, and these wedge sandals would be forever her favorites. She closed her eyes, thought of the kiss outside his car, then of the one outside her door. God! It had turned her inside out, and she was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

  She hummed Walking on Sunshine in the shower and danced under the warm water as strawberry scented suds flowed down to her feet and swirled in the drain. Nothing could wash away her smile or the memory of that evening which she was going to sit on her couch and enjoy in front of a blank TV screen in her comfy robe with one more glass of wine.

  She stepped out of the bathroom, and the smile and happy memories disappeared in a single whiff of cologne.

  Joe. Her ex-husband was either in her apartment or had been while she was in the shower. She walked slowly to the living room, and there he was, on the center of her couch in his police uniform, looking smug as ever.

  “I saw you had a little date tonight, Lin. Does he know we’re getting back together?” Joe stood up and began walking toward her, “because he’s only going to get himself hurt if he comes back for more. And he looked like he wanted to come back for more.”

  He’s not coming back for more; he’s coming back for everything.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Joe. We are NOT getting back together.” She was tempted to back away, but she didn’t want to give him an inch. “And you are out of your jurisdiction, as a cop and as a man.”

  She sometimes forgot how big he was. Not hard, like Kirk, just slightly mountainous and used to getting his way. Now he was close enough to grab her, if he wanted. “You will always be my jurisdiction, Linda; and your wannabe boyfriend is only going to get hurt if you don’t get rid of him now.”

  He had the stink of a long day in a patrol car on him, and his dark hair was rumpled and greasy, his close-set eyes glassy and bloodshot. She thought she detected the scent of bourbon in his red-meat and onion breath. He looked like he was retaining water, and she briefly entertained the idea of pointing that out and asking if he was PMSing. She also wanted to tell him exactly why Kirk would destroy him, but better to let him find out the hard way; see him strut into that battle and be carried out of it.

  “You’re the one who left me, Joe—left me for another woman, remember? And then she came to her senses. Too bad! Go out and find another skank who hasn’t wised up.” She pointed to the door behind him. “Now get the fuck out!”

  He snagged her pointing hand by the wrist, took her throat in his other hand, and pivoted to pin her against the wall, his puffy hand pressing up into her jaw. She was forced up onto her toes and had no leverage. He released her wrist and reached for the knotted cotton belt of her robe. She felt the friction of cloth on cloth as he pulled at the knot, a smug little smile on his face. She pushed at his chest, but he probably didn’t even feel it through the ballistic vest under his shirt. She felt cool air over her navel as the robe began to fall open and his smile grew wider. He didn’t notice her fingers keying the radio transmitter on his chest.

  “Let go of my throat, Charlie Nine-Four-Nine! You’re hurting me! Stop!”

  She watched his expression turn first to confusion at hearing her use his call sign, and then to panic as he realized what she had done. He hopped back and slapped her hand away from the microphone, but the damage was done. A female voice crackled over the radio. “Calling Dispatch, say again…Charlie Nine-Four-Nine, ten-twenty?”

  Yeah, Joe. Where the fuck are you?

  The color drained from his face and then refilled in a bright shade of red. “You fucking bitch!” He turned his head and keyed the mic, as Linda took a deep breath. He said, “Dispatch, Charlie—”

  Linda let her breath explode out in a scream. “Get out of my apartment, Joe!” She advanced toward him, her finger again pointed at the door.

  His face returned to pale. He released the transmit button, stumbled back toward the door, then keyed the mic, “Charlie Nine-Four-Nine is 10-7, Alexandria, just breaking up a domestic.”

  He got the door open and backed onto the exterior walkway and Linda followed to keep him moving toward the stairwell. The radio crackled, “Charlie-Nine-Four-Nine, do you need Alexandria Police?”

  “N-no, all done here. Charlie-Nine-Four-Nine is 10-7.”

  “You need to find something better to do with your ‘10-7’ time, Joe.” The venom in her own voice surprised Linda. “And you are all done here. We are all done here…forever.” She advanced toward him, and he continued to back away. He actually looked scared, as if some avenging angel towered behind Linda, ready to smite him. He turned and fled down the stairwell.

  I am woman, hear me roar!

  For a moment, she stood poised for battle. Then she realized that her robe was still hanging open in an inverted ‘V’ from where her breasts held it to an inch-wide gap at her cleavage to where the ends brushed at the outside of her calves. As she pulled it closed, the adrenaline rush ended and she was left cold, tired, and a little nauseous.

  *****

  A workout and a shower couldn’t get the energy out of Kirk’s system or her out of his head. He turned on his stereo, put the connected mp3 player on random, and settled into an easy chair. His body remembered the feeling of her hip pressed to him as they walked to her apartment. He could still feel the small of her back in his palm, the swell of her breasts against his torso, the soft lips and warm breath inviting him to her. The light scent of perfume and shampoo was still in his nose, the sound of her voice in his ears.

  Dire Straits’ So Far Away played on his stereo, and the distance from his apartment to hers suddenly felt like an ocean. He wondered what time she got up. Would she be interested in breakfast, or
at least a cup of coffee? Was it too soon to call and ask? Was it too late to call and ask? Who made the rules on this stuff?

  Mark Knopfler sang, “I’m tired of being in love and being all alone, ‘cause you’re so far away from me.” Kirk’s heartstrings twanged with the guitars, and he sunk into the loneliness of the song until Beethoven lifted him out and carried him over country landscapes with his Sixth Symphony. He imagined her riding with him, her hand in his, her smile more beautiful than the blooming meadows and sparkling streams, until a light knock on his door broke the reverie.

  He opened the door, and there stood his damp-haired angel in a wide-collared pull-over dress and flat shoes. One side of her lower lip was tucked under her teeth and her puppy dog eyes asked if she might come in. His heart leaped, and then he sensed something might be amiss. He pulled her into the apartment and she burst into tears.

  *****

  She wasn’t even sure of the exact reason she walked to his apartment. It was the last thing her ex would want her to do, so that was at least part of it. Another part of it was an attempt to recapture the magic and the mood with which she’d started the evening. And she felt a need for safety; after all an armed intruder’s hand had been at her throat.

  The speed with which Kirk read her eyes and showed his concern blasted away an emotional dam. She practically fell into his apartment and into his arms, into her fortress and her refuge. The story of her failed marriage and the encounter in her apartment poured out through tears until she reached the part about herding the errant cop out of her apartment in nothing but an open bath robe. Then a laugh escaped, and then another, and then she shook with laughter until she felt him begin to laugh with her.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder. “Can you imagine how that would have looked to a witness? This hulking cop scurrying away from a half-naked woman?”

  “Never underestimate the power of a vengeful vagina.”

  “Oh, you are terrible!” She gave him a little push, and then pulled him in for a kiss.

  “And you are beautiful…and I’m worried about you. Either you stay here tonight, or I stay in your apartment.” Kirk opened from their embrace and gestured toward the back of the apartment. “I only have one bed, but you can have it. I sleep on the couch half the time anyway.”

  She smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but if I’m back there and you’re out here, who’s going to debrief me?”

  “I didn’t realize you were wearing briefs.”

  “Who’s going to de-thong me?”

  “We can do that right here.” His arms circled her waist and he kissed her neck while his hands slid down over her butt and began gathering the fabric of her t-shirt dress until she first felt cool air and then his warm hands on her skin. His thumbs hooked under the elastic waistband, and she felt her panties peel downward, felt her body respond, and knew exactly where the blood rushing from her head was going.

  The flimsy fabric barely made it to her thighs before his hands began a slow trek up her back, the dress gathering on his forearms. He pulled her in tight, came back to her lips for another kiss, then turned her body just enough to let one hand glide around to her front and slowly up the center of her chest until it arrived just below her neck. Then his elbow continued up, pulling his forearm over her breast, and she felt the nipple harden against his skin as if reaching for more contact. He kept the pressure light, though, as he brought his elbow down and out, pulling his forearm lengthwise over the aching bud and continuing past wrist and palm until a single finger teased over the top of the sensitive nub. Finally, he added some delicious pressure, and Linda moaned into his kiss.

  She broke the kiss and laid her forehead against his face. “Does debriefing always take this long?”

  His thumb worked over her nipple. “Haven’t you heard? Slow is smooth; smooth is fast. SEALs don’t go charging in all willy-nilly. That’s just running to your death.”

  “Yeah, but if you go any slower, I might kill you.”

  He kissed her again and pushed the dress up and over her head. It interrupted their kiss, slipped past her fingers, and landed in a small heap on the upholstered chair beside them. Then warm hands pressed in on her shoulders, the small of her back, and her buttocks, while warmer lips and tongue trailed from her lips to her neck and down her collarbone. His fingers found the slight waistband again and it descended toward the floor as hot kisses sunk between her breasts and down to her navel. She clung to his head for balance and to keep his lips and tongue on her skin. She lifted each foot in turn so the lacy obstacle could be removed, and he took the opportunity to slip her ballet flats off as well. Then he came back up, at a slightly faster pace, the scarce fabric dangling from a finger and bouncing off her skin as his hands slid up her smooth backside.

  “Maybe I should hang this out on the doorknob so everyone knows not to bother us.”

  She tickled her fingers over the hard protrusion at the front of his gym shorts and pulled out on the waistband. “Maybe we should just say goodnight and go to our separate beds. After all, we’ve only had one date, and I don’t want to get a reputation.”

  The thong fell on top of her dress. “This is our third date, and you don’t want to get a reputation as a tease.”

  “Well you know, we girls have a saying about dating progression: Slow is smooth—”

  He scooped her into his arms in one smooth motion, like she weighed nothing at all, and carried her to the bedroom without a word. He placed her gently on the bed, stepped back, and stripped off his shorts and t-shirt. Every part of him looked hard and muscular, and one part was positively pulsing.

  “Does this mean the slow part is over?”

  “Depends on how you define slow,” he said. “I almost don’t want to start because this moment, and you, are so perfect.” He grasped her ankles, bent down, and kissed along her toes and over the tops of her feet. “Something so fine should be savored,” he said, “taken in small bites.” His lips and tongue meandered up the inside of one calf to her knee and then crossed to the other side and continued upward at a snail’s pace as his hands worked their way under her legs and out so that the backs of her knees rested on his biceps.

  Linda groaned and writhed; tried to pull him to the target with her heels, but he continued to stalk it methodically until finally she could feel the heat of her sex reflecting off of his face. His hands slid over her forearms and locked her in place as he began to explore her terrain with lips and tongue, following the soft ridgelines of her labia further and further north and then circling closer and closer before engaging with his relentless tongue and adjusting pressure and location according to her reactions. Soon he had just the right spot and just the right motion and all she could say was “Don’t stop…don’t stop…don’t stop,” as she felt bands of tension gathering inward until it finally all unraveled in giant bursts that rushed outward in every direction, to every extremity, leaving her unaware of anything but her immediate experience, until she was left limp and joyful on the bed.

  Now she could enjoy his leisurely pace, his happy lingering at her breasts, and each step of his lips’ journey toward hers. And as his lips found hers, she felt the bulbous head of his cock arrive at its appointed place of duty and linger for a long second before accepting the invitation to come in and stay a while. She groaned again, in unison with Kirk this time, as they became one. He allowed his weight to settle comfortably onto her and they lay still for a long while before their hips began a slow dance that unexpectedly built to another crescendo for her. As his tension built, the weight of his body transferred onto his forearms so it seemed as though he levitated over her until he exploded in several elongated exhalations and collapsed on top of her.

  Finally, he recovered enough to lift his head. “I don’t want to move.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “You’re not being crushed?”

  “I’ve never been more comfortable—or happy.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “That
was incredible; or at least it was for me.” He propped himself up and smiled down at her. “You know those feel-good sex chemicals that create the feeling of falling in love? I’ve got more of those in my system now than ever before in my life.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I think I’d like to just be quiet and hold you for a while.”

  “Good idea.”

  *****

  Kirk woke up at 0430 as usual but lingered for half an hour, amazed that he’d actually slept an entire night with someone in his arms. Equally amazing was what a furnace Linda turned into as she slept. Her back was radiating warmth into his chest, and he could feel the heat escaping around her neck as he kissed it and pulled her body tight to his one last time before sliding free for his morning run, which doubled as his thinking time, and he definitely had some things to iron out in his head before he went to work.

  First, there was the matter of his dead alias and his new lover, who did not have security clearance. Then there was the matter of her friend who, for now, thought that Kirk’s name was Robert Whitman. He wouldn’t give up Linda, and she wouldn’t forsake her friend, so the friend was at least going to know that Kirk Blackwell had once worked in Cyprus as someone named Robert. The final matter was how to rid Linda of her ex-husband. To Kirk, that seemed a deteriorating situation. How had he gotten into Linda’s apartment in the first place? Kirk guessed that he had used a pneumatic pick, probably one confiscated from a burglar’s break and enter kit. A surly ex was a problem Kirk could handle any day of the week, but a surly ex with a badge could bring some unwanted attention that could affect his status on the team.

  By the time he arrived back at the apartment, Kirk had his day planned. He’d keep Linda at his place until either he got back from work or he had arranged to get some Alexandria police put on her apartment. By the end of the day, wheels should be in motion to keep Joe away for good, if he had any intention of keeping his law enforcement career alive; that was assuming the guy wasn’t so mentally unhinged that he’d be willing to throw it all away to battle for control of a woman. In that case, Linda’s life would be in danger and someone would have to take drastic action.