You Give Good Love

by J. J. Murray

  Hope woke up sweating and trying to make sense of her dream. That was too logical to be a dream.

  She heard the buzzer.

  An elf puppet warned me in a dream. It’s a sign.

  She pulled Dylan’s hoodie down to her thighs, buzzed Dylan in, and waited by the door. It’s two-thirty. Why does it take him so long?

  She opened the door, and Dylan carried in two one-pound ginger buff wing combos from Super Wings NY.

  “Are we ever going to run out of places to eat?” Hope asked, opening her box and munching on a zucchini bite.

  “Not in Brooklyn,” he said. “Ready for your bath?”

  “At three in the afternoon?” she asked. She tore into a wing. I am in heaven. “And anyway, I’m eating.”

  “Won’t you have trick-or-treaters soon?” Dylan asked. “You don’t want to scare them away with your body odor, do you?”

  “I smell like you.”

  “I have body odor, too,” Dylan said. “Care to join me?”

  Well, I suppose if I absolutely have to . . .

  Within a minute of beginning their bath, they realized they would need a bigger tub. No matter how they arranged and rearranged themselves, it just wasn’t going to work. Dylan went in first and rested his back away from the faucet, Hope sitting on his lap, her feet splayed out to the sides, her left foot completely out of the tub.

  “This is uncomfortable,” she said. “Kinky, though.”

  They reversed positions, and Dylan’s knees banged into the faucet.

  “There’s a punch line here somewhere,” Dylan said. “I’ll think of it eventually.”

  They tried facing each other, but the faucet dug into Dylan’s back, and Hope’s feet only fit comfortably when she gouged her heels into Dylan’s shoulders.

  “Shower,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Hope turned the hot knob only and adjusted the spray away from her hair. “Soap me up,” she said, raising her arms to the ceiling. She expected Dylan to take his time and massage her delicate skin properly with the washcloth, but Dylan circled her several times, soaping her from neck to toes within one minute.

  “I’m not a car, Dylan,” she said as she rinsed.

  “If your building is like mine,” he said quickly, “there can’t be that much hot water left after we filled this tub.”

  Hope nodded. “Point taken. Turn around.” She soaped him from toes to ears as the water rapidly changed from lukewarm to cool. “Hair?” Hope shrieked.

  “Next time!” Dylan yelled.

  “Rinse!” Hope cried.

  This was the first time Hope and Dylan would ever dance.

  By the time Dylan rinsed off, the water had turned icy cold. Fortunately, Dylan bore the brunt of the stinging, frigid water. Dylan turned off the water and shivered, trembling even more when Hope threw him the cold, wet towel he had used in the morning.

  “Sorry,” Hope said. “It’ll be warmer in the bed.”

  Hope slid under the covers first, her arms and legs quivering. Dylan left wet footprints as he went over to his backpack, took out another DVD, put it in the DVD player, and joined Hope’s shuddering form.

  “I’m c-cold,” she said, skimming her feet up and down Dylan’s shins.

  He pressed several buttons on the remote control. “This will warm you up.”

  “Is it a steamy romance?” Hope asked.

  “It’s Halloween,” Dylan said. “We’re going to watch Alien, one of the scariest movies of all time.”

  “Is there a steamy sex scene?” Hope asked.

  “Nope,” Dylan said. “Just an exploding stomach, a malevolent creature, a high body count, and a hissing cat.” He rubbed her back. “You’re still cold.”

  It’s cold in space.

  “By the way, they had to put tape over Sigourney Weaver’s nipples in one of the first scenes, and the slime on the creature is K-Y Jelly,” Dylan said.

  “How do you know this?” Hope asked.

  “It’s one of my favorite movies,” Dylan said. “I know nearly everything there is to know about this movie. It’s one of the first movies I ever saw as a kid.”

  Hope, who really didn’t want to see exploding stomachs, reluctantly put on her glasses and watched Sigourney Weaver’s character, Ripley, waking up on a shelf-like pod. When Weaver stood, the camera panned over her tight white top and skimpy panties.

  Dangerously white women should never wear all white underwear, Hope thought, and the very first thing I’d do if I woke up after a month-long nap would be to brush my teeth.

  “Do you think she’s pretty?” Hope asked.

  “She certainly is tall,” Dylan said. “Probably taller than you are.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Hope said. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  “I cannot answer this without getting in trouble,” Dylan said. “All I will say is that her character has a nice body, and she will kick ass later in the film.”

  Hope didn’t want to see Sigourney “Nice Body” Weaver kick ass. She snapped off the TV and took off her glasses, handing them to Dylan. “Oh, I was certainly scared.”

  “You only saw the first part,” Dylan said.

  “I do not want to watch a tall white woman running around barely dressed in the wrong clothes for two hours,” Hope said. “If you didn’t already notice, I am naked, in the buff, and wearing nothing but a frown.”

  He pulled her on top of him. “What would you rather do?”

  She dug her elbows into his chest and propped her chin in her hands. “I’d rather talk more about your fantasies. Tell me another fantasy, the one where you’re with two women.” Cold water has made me bold.

  Dylan blinked. “I don’t have that fantasy.”

  Liar. “All men have this fantasy.”

  “I don’t.”

  He’s still lying, but I must move on. I have a sex life to catch up on. “Let’s say you had to choose two women to sleep with at the same time. Who would the other woman be?”

  “I like how you said that,” Dylan said. “But I don’t know who I’d choose. This isn’t something I think about. I wouldn’t want another woman, so I guess it would boil down to whom you wanted her to be.”

  Oh, he’s good at turning things around. “That’s not how it works. You have to choose.”

  Dylan sighed. “You know I’m going to ask you the same question.”

  Oh yeah. “And I will answer.” Somehow.

  “Okay, um . . . I would choose . . .” He shrugged. “It would have to be someone you didn’t know.”

  “You’re stalling. Who?”

  “Um . . .” He shook his head several times. “Corinne Bailey Rae.”

  “Who?”

  “Corinne Bailey Rae. She’s a British soul singer and guitarist.”

  A singer? He wants to hook up with a singer? Hope pointed to the nightstand. “Hand me my laptop. It’s on the shelf.”

  Dylan handed the laptop to her. He wisely didn’t say anything.

  She booted up her laptop and ran a search for Corinne Bailey Rae. What kind of name is that anyway? She clicked on “images” and saw . . .

  Corinne Bailey Rae could be my twin. She’s about my age, tall, thin, has thick frizzy hair, and is lighter-skinned than I am. She’s not at all the kind of woman I expected Dylan to choose. I thought he’d want a more buxom woman. Wait a minute. Maybe he chose someone who looks like me because he likes the looks of me. His choice is almost a compliment to me. Let’s see, she was Grammy-nominated, won a bunch of awards, married to a white musician, and she is definitely talented. I hate to say it, but Dylan made a good choice.

  I’ll never tell him that, however.

  “We’d only need a twin bed for the three of us, Dylan,” Hope said. “Why her? Besides the obvious resemblance.”

  “About the same time Marie left me, I read a story about Corinne’s husband dying,” Dylan said. “She didn’t put out another album for two years, which is a lifetime in the music industry. We were
both in mourning at the same time. I guess I felt a kind of kinship.”

  Hope shut her laptop. “Are you naturally drawn to sad people?”

  “I don’t think I am,” Dylan said. “I saw joy in you from the first moment we talked. I didn’t see sadness.”

  You weren’t looking very hard. “Well, she seems like a very nice person,” Hope said. She actually seems like someone I’d like to meet. She sighed. “You can ask me the same question if you want.”

  “First answer this question,” Dylan said. “Is a threesome a fantasy of yours?”

  “No,” Hope said, laughing. “No way.”

  “Then why bring it up?” Dylan asked.

  Good point. “I’m just curious. I wanted to know what you considered beautiful, I guess, and you picked someone a lot like me, which means . . . you really think I’m beautiful.”

  “I do,” Dylan said. “Now I’m suddenly curious who you would pick. If you, Hope Elizabeth Warren, had to choose another person to join us, who would it be?”

  “Let me think.”

  I should have already had an answer ready. What do the lawyers always say? Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. I couldn’t possibly choose another woman for Dylan to play with. Except for my gynecologist, every woman on earth would be a threat to my sexual self-esteem, especially free spirits like Kiki and Angie. So it would have to be a man, but it would have to be a man to compliment Dylan somehow. Who’s hot and Irish? Sean Connery? No, he’s Scottish. Pierce Brosnan is okay, but only when he’s James Bond. Liam Neeson is a great actor, but he’s huge! I know. Colin Farrell. He could almost be Dylan’s twin. No, I hear he can be wild.

  I got it.

  “I have an answer,” Hope said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I would choose . . . your twin.”

  Dylan blinked. “But I don’t have a twin. It has to be a real person.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be a real person, did I?” Hope smiled.

  “But I thought . . .” He crossed his arms. “You don’t play fair, cailín.”

  She pulled his arms apart and wormed her way up his chest. “You’re only angry that you didn’t think of it.”

  “I am,” he said. “But you cheated, and because you cheated, you get no candy.”

  Hope grinned. “Candy? Where’s the candy?”

  “No candy for you,” Dylan said. “You chose not to choose.”

  “If I give you a name, may I have some candy?” Hope asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Colin Farrell,” Hope said, rolling out of bed. “Now where’s the candy?”

  “In my backpack.”

  Hope ran to the backpack and opened the main compartment. I have died and gone to chocolate heaven. She dragged the backpack closer to the kitchen table, removing bags of mini candy bars: 5th Avenue, Almond Joy, Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, Milky Way, Mounds, Nestlé Crunch, Snickers, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

  I will eat them all and die with a cavity-filled smile on my face.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got an assortment,” Dylan said. “They don’t sell any Canadian brands around here. Sorry.”

  Can one die of too much chocolate goodness? Has there ever been a scientific study on this? Maybe I’ll start my own study.

  “Can I have one now?” Hope asked, biting her lip.

  Dylan swung out of bed. “I promised you that I would taste every square millimeter of your body.”

  I want candy. Now.

  “I will let you have much more than one candy bar . . .”

  This man is a god. I will listen to him. He is very wise when it comes to chocolate.

  “But only if I can feed you a certain way.”

  Hope nodded. “Are these your props?”

  Dylan nodded. “Go lie on the bed.”

  Hope complied with a speed that surprised her. Candy. Now.

  Dylan carried the bag of Reese’s Mini Peanut Butter Cups to the bed. He tore open the bag and began unwrapping and placing them at several strategic places on the front of Hope’s body. “Stay still.”

  Though the candies were cold, Hope remained motionless.

  After he placed the last one on her navel, he whispered, “How hungry are you?”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Good. Close your eyes.”

  Hope closed her eyes. She first felt a hot kiss high on her right thigh. A moment later, she felt chocolate at her lips. She opened her mouth, felt a tongue pushing the candy in, and kissed Dylan’s sweet lips. As she chewed, she felt suction first on her left nipple and then on her right. A moment later, she tasted a double helping of chocolate and peanut butter. She knew there were three on her stomach, so she chewed faster. One by one, they rose with a tender kiss to her waiting lips.

  Dylan gently turned her onto her stomach and placed several more on her back and sexy derriere. He pulled her hair back. “This might be a little sticky and tricky.”

  He started with the ones on her back, shooting each through the side of her mouth. Two more lifted off her sexy derriere after the tiniest of bites. Then Hope felt a hot tongue moving up her right calf to her thigh to her cheek to her shoulder blade. She felt Dylan move to her other side, where he blazed another trail from her left shoulder to her left calf. She felt goose bumps over most of her body now, but they soon disappeared when strong hands massaged her neck and shoulders, the rest of him resting lightly on her sexy derriere. She felt him press, knead, rub, and dig lower and lower on her back, her hips rising involuntarily to meet his hands. When he worked and kissed her sexy derriere, she sighed.

  And she felt a serious tingle.

  Hope could not ignore this particular tingle.

  She turned quickly and pulled him forward. “I want you,” she moaned. She grabbed his hair. “Just take it slow.”

  She felt him enter her hesitantly, carefully, ever so gently, his finger rubbing her clitoris in a lazy circle. She dropped her hands to his sides and reached for his lower back, latching on and pressing him deeper.

  Ow! Why does it hurt so freaking much! I’m feeling moister than I have been before. This isn’t fair! She pushed his hips back. “I need help.”

  Dylan nodded, taking the K-Y bottle from the nightstand and liberally rubbing his penis.

  She gripped his sexy derriere this time, and pulled him in more quickly, his finger making faster, fiercer circles, his hips backing away before plunging again. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what he looked like, his magnificent body splitting hers in two, her heels digging into his hamstrings.

  “You can start jooking me now,” she whispered. “But please go slowly.”

  She brought her hands to his upper back and felt him go in and out in a slow, lazy rhythm.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” She raised her arms over her head and gripped the headboard. I feel him, but I know he’s holding back for my sake. I should be having my second orgasm by now. “Give me all you’ve got.”

  At first, the pain was a dull ache, but as Dylan increased his speed and depth, Hope realized she was in agony.

  “Stop, stop!” she cried, pushing down forcefully on his shoulders until he left her. She pounded the bed with her fists. “I hate this!”

  Dylan rubbed her fists with his hands until they opened, intertwining his fingers with hers, and then he pulled her onto his chest, caressing her hair.

  “I want you worse than anything I’ve ever wanted,” Hope said, tears streaming down her face and onto his chest. “But no, I can’t have you. Why does it have to hurt?”

  “We could go see a doctor,” Dylan said. “Just tell me when, and I’ll take you.”

  “I don’t know, I’m probably overreacting,” she said. “I want it to work so badly that I’m tightening up or something. I’m probably expecting too much too soon. Sexual anorexia is a bitch.” And I created every last bit of that bitch. “It’s as if I’m losing my virginity every time we try.” I sho
uld probably go check to see if I’m bleeding. She pushed off his chest. “Be back in a minute.”

  As she went toward the washroom, she felt a thin trickle of blood down her thigh. She stopped at her wardrobe, took out a pair of underwear, went into the washroom, and closed the door. When she wiped herself with some toilet paper, she saw dots of blood. Merde! I’m spotting while I’m not on my period. I am so lucky. She opened the washroom closet and stared at ancient packages of tampons and maxipads. I might pass out from the pain of putting in a tampon. She slid her underwear up to her thighs, unwrapped a pad, secured it, and pulled her underwear on completely.

  Then she wept.

  She heard a knock on the door. “Be out in a minute.”

  “Hope, are you okay?” Dylan asked.

  No, and I don’t know if I ever will be. “Yes. Just a second.” She flushed the bloody toilet paper and opened the door, immediately walking into Dylan’s arms.

  And she wept some more.

  He led her to the bed, eased her under the covers, and held her while her body shook.

  “I feel so stupid,” Hope sobbed. “I know it’s all my fault, but I’m trying to get better, aren’t I? I’m eating like a horse, I’m trying to avoid stress, and I’m sleeping more. Why am I not getting better?”

  “You said you felt more tingling today, right?” Dylan asked.