by Wendy Owens
“Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “You’re so incredible.”
He closes the space between us, his hands resting on my hips, his lips exploring my neck, then lower, his mouth finding the flesh of my breasts. I’m breathing heavy, heaving in and out, trembling. I begin to lose my balance and stumble backward, catching myself on the bunks.
“Are you all right?” he asks, grinning with satisfaction.
“Uh huh,” I gasp, sitting down on my bed and reaching out with a single hand to grab his belt loop and pull him close. My finger curls around the jeans, releasing the button. I start to shimmy them down over his muscular thighs, but he grows impatient, rapidly moving his legs up and down to remove them from his legs.
“Boxer briefs, huh?” I ask with a smile.
“Do you approve?” He lowers himself on top of me, the only thing between us now that thin layer of fabric.
“Oh yeah, very much so,” I answer.
“Lie back,” he instructs me, and I instantly do what he says. His tongue wraps itself around my hard nipple, and my back arches in response. He’s not content with this though, and he continues moving down my body, exploring all the curves and grooves with his lips and tongue.
“What are you doing?” I moan, reaching down and grasping his hair with my fingers. The lower he moves, the tighter my grip, but he’s not answering me.
His kisses pepper my stomach, then my pelvis, and suddenly, with a firm grasp, he parts my legs, kissing the inside of my thighs. His tongue slides up the crevice of where my leg meets my hip, and I’m nearly convulsing as my muscles twitch wildly. I haven’t felt the intimate touch of a man in so long, I’d forgotten what it can do to you.
First, there is a gentle kiss at my entrance, then a more powerful one, and before I can protest, before I can say I’m not sure I’m ready, he silences me with the pounding force of his tongue, parting my lips. It flicks wildly against my clit, and all the muscles in the lower half of my body tighten, drawing me toward him.
With a forceful hand, he presses my thighs back against the bed, hooking his arms around each leg. His tongue broadens and begins circling. I feel an energy building inside me, one that feels like at any moment I might lose all control. Stay calm, I tell myself, but it does no good.
Travis never enjoyed oral sex, and he never pleasured me in such a way—no man ever had. He’d tried, but it was always fast and obviously not something he took enjoyment in. I assumed it was something we did for them, not something that was ever done for us. It’s a confusing pleasure. Part of me wants to release myself into the bliss of it, but the other part of me fears I can’t handle the pleasure, and wants to pull away. Dean doesn’t let me, though. He can sense the pleasure it’s bringing me, and he has me locked into place.
As his tongue moves up, down, side-to-side, and even in and out, time loses meaning. A blur begins to leak into my vision, all around the edges, and there is a soft hum surrounding us like a cocoon. I want to envelop him, never allowing this moment to end. He can feel it building in me; I can tell because he’s increasing the intensity with each wave the flows through me.
Travis. His name is in my head again. Why didn’t he ever do this? Did he think something was wrong with me? Is there something wrong with me? If I let Dean stay down there, will he find out whatever Travis saw wrong with me?
“Fuck me,” I beg, wanting to think of anything other than what my dead spouse didn’t do in bed.
I only have to ask once, and releasing my thighs, he climbs up my body. He hesitates at my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth again, pressing down slightly with his teeth, and I hiss in delight.
He rises higher, and I run my hands down his back. I’m gripping his flesh, my nails digging in, and he doesn’t seem to mind. When he shifts completely into place on top of me, I suck in a breath of shock, realizing at some point he has removed his underwear without me noticing. His lips are tracing the line of my neck, leaving a trail of kisses as he makes his way up to my face.
He holds himself up with his arms, over me, highlighting the muscles in his shoulders, and I feel myself growing even wetter. He shifts his weight to one arm, his shaft pressing hard against my inner thigh. Leaning over the bed, he grabs his jeans with the other hand. From the back pocket he wiggles loose a condom, slipping it between his teeth, returning to his position over me.
Reaching up, I take the condom from his mouth and tear it open. He doesn’t have to ask for my help—I want this to happen as much as he does. I reach down and grab the warm flesh of his length with one hand, placing the condom on with the other. Rolling it into place, I hear him moan from my touch. I smile longingly.
Returning my hands to the sides of his torso, guiding his weight into place, I widen the gap of my legs. He’s looking into my eyes. There’s intensity in his, a lust that says he has to have me. I need him just as much. I need to feel that connection, the closeness of intimacy at this level with another human being.
I’m afraid. It’s been years. Will it hurt? Will it be like losing my virginity all over again? He lowers himself to his forearms, pulling up on his hips to bring himself into the perfect position to enter me.
He licks his lips. “Are you sure?” he asks one last time.
This question startles me. Have I given some indication I’m not? “Yes, please,” I beg in a whisper. But his words already have me questioning myself. Perhaps I’m not ready. Maybe he senses it in me.
You’re here, you’re doing this, I tell myself, wrapping my legs around Dean, preparing myself for him. I take in a breath, tilt my head back, and close my eyes, waiting. He begins pressing forward with light thrusts. They’re controlled at first, but then they begin to pick up pace and intensity as he moves deeper into me.
With his mouth is pressed into my neck, his hot breath makes me ache. The pain isn’t the same as my first time; it’s intense, but then passes. He’s rocking into me, and when I get used to the rhythm, he changes it. He’s driving me insane.
The same explosion I felt building when his mouth was below the waist begins building again. When I arch my back in pleasure, he slides an arm behind me, pulling me up, closer into him.
“I love you,” he whispers.
It’s like a sucker punch to my stomach. All of the air escapes me, and my world is spinning out of control. Every time Travis would get ready to climax he would whisper that same thing. Travis’s faces flashes through my head, and I open my eyes wide, trying to escape the image of him. But he’s there, locked into the moment with me and Dean.
I’m past the point of return—we both are—and I feel the climax, on the verge, ready to release, and behind that is a struggle. A struggle brews inside of me because each time I think of Dean, Travis’ name isn’t far away. I feel Dean begin twitching inside of me, and he moans, pulling me into him even tighter. So tight I wonder if he could break me. His orgasm sets off a chain reaction, like an avalanche inside of me.
I moan as the climax overtakes me, and, in an instant, it’s like a beam of light is shooting out from my core, extending out from all of my entry points, and even out my fingertips. I’m floating now, a blur of reality and unconsciousness mingling around me. There are tiny golden diamonds in my mind, sounds are muffled, and I’m in a place of ecstasy like none I have ever known.
Then I hear him—Travis—heaving in and out, and I open my eyes wide. Jesus! Dean. Did I think for a moment at the end he was Travis? He rolls off me, his panting mixed with laughing.
“Wow, that was insane,” he huffs.
I sit up, pulling a pillow to my stomach. “Yeah, it was,” I agree. I don’t want him to see me … he won’t understand. I can’t stop it; the water has filled my eyes, and I’m going to start crying. No matter how much I fight it, the tears will win.
He tightens his arms around my waist, shifting his body, resting one leg on either side of me. My back is pressed to his torso, and we’re both forced to sit slightly slumped over on the bottom bunk. He rests his chin on my shoul
der, and asks, “You okay?”
I glance at him briefly, force a tight-lipped smile, and say, “I’m fine.”
He isn’t buying it, that’s obvious. Leaving his legs wrapped around me, he releases my waist and leans to the right side, resting on his elbow and forearm. This makes it harder for me to avoid looking at him.
I feel his other hand slide against the skin on my back, and I tense up for a moment. He softens his touch, his fingertips now dancing across my flesh. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”
I hesitate, running through things I can say in my head. How can I possibly tell you the truth? How can I tell you that, for a split second, when I climaxed, my mind tricked me into thinking I was with Travis? I’m pretty sure the last thing you want to hear after having sex with me is that I was thinking about my dead spouse during it.
I turn toward him, with only a sheet between our bodies, and lean in to kiss him. My lips press against his, and I pull his bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth, letting it slide slowly back out between my lips. I pull away slightly and open my eyes. He’s smiling.
Sitting up, I feel relief wash over me. I’m sure the last thing he’s thinking about now is—
“That was nice,” he interrupts my thoughts. “But are you going to tell me what happened?”
“What do you mean? What happened when?” I play dumb. My heartbeat quickens, my palms start to sweat, and I can feel his eyes fixed on me.
He moves his legs, and lies down completely on the bed, motioning for me to join him. I bite my lip, nervous I’m going to say or do something to ruin this great thing happening in my life. I comply, yanking on the sheets, and, making my way underneath, I hook my right leg across his body, resting my head on his shoulder and hand on his chest.
“I want you to be able to trust me,” he says at last.
I don’t move my head. “I do.”
“Then tell me why you were crying.”
“I—” I’m about to lie. Why am I going to lie to him? Tell him the truth. “It’s about Travis.”
I can hear him breathing, in and out, but he remains calm when I confess what brought me to tears. I can’t tell if he’s upset. I’m silent, waiting for him to respond.
“That’s it? That really doesn’t tell me a lot, sweetie. What about Travis made you cry?”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“Do I really seem like that unreasonable of a guy?” he asks. I’m glad I’m lying on his chest, because I doubt I can have this conversation face to face.
“No, of course not,” I quickly reply. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen, but right at the end I got overwhelmed, and I—”
“You what?”
“I thought you were Travis.” He laughs softly, and I ask, “You’re not mad?”
“Am I excited you’re thinking about another man when I give you an orgasm? No, but I also get that this isn’t going to be easy. I’m just amused you thought I’d be so upset.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I feel his lips press against my forehead. “I’m willing to make love to you as many times as it takes to put this behind you.”
I give him swift slap to the tummy, and he folds in half for a second, a gust of air blowing out. “Yeah, is that right? You’re so giving,” I taunt.
He laughs, clutching his stomach and moaning, “I do what I can.”
I shift my tongue in my mouth, a sour taste overwhelming me. Closing my eyes, I try to be content in the moment, but sadness is finding its way into my mind. I breathe in a deep breath of air; it shakes as I exhale.
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” he asks, his arm around me tightening.
I turn my face into his rib cage, shielding myself, fighting back the flood emotions that are threatening to erupt. Don’t let him see how unstable you are. Who in their right mind would want a complete basket case?
“Come on baby, tell me,” he pleads.
“I guess I just feel like an idiot. It’s been three years. I should be past this.”
“Who says?”
“What?” His question surprises me.
“Who in the hell says you should be over this?” he asks again.
“Everyone,” I reply.
“Then everyone should shut up because they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about,” he huffs defensively. “Until they’ve been in your shoes, they should keep their mouths shut. People tried to tell me how I should feel about my mom, and I figured out real quick that they were all idiots.”
“Thank you,” I whisper softly. My heart hurts so much it’s the only words I can manage to say. He understands, he gets that life is full of pain, and the ghosts that haunt me do not threaten him.
He smiles that grin I love so much, then takes my hand into his and nudges me toward the edge of the bed. “Come on, I wanna take you somewhere.”
I slide out of the bed and begin to search the floor for my clothing. “Where?”
I pause when he stands up, the full sight of him coming into vision. He sees me staring, and a smirk appears on his face. “Yeah, I’m a grower.”
“Huh?” I gasp, my face flushing red.
“Keep staring at my cock like that and you’ll see what I mean pretty quick.” He laughs. Catching a glimpse of his underwear, I snag them and toss them in the direction of his firm body. As he slides them on, I can already see what he meant by his now partially hard penis.
I slip on my panties, then bra, and ask, “So where are we going?”
“What’s with the flower tattoo along your shoulder?” he asks, avoiding my question.
“Huh?” A stitch sews its way across my brow. “They were my mom’s favorite flowers. I got them when I turned eighteen.” I laugh to myself as I remember the event. “My dad had warned me not to defile my body with a tattoo, but when he saw them, he cried and told me how much she would have loved them.”
I’m not looking at Dean as I recall the memory, but I can feel his eyes on me. I grab my dress off the floor and pull it over my head, and by the time I have it pulled into place, Dean is fully dressed and staring at me again. “What?” I cock my head, asking self-consciously. I don’t look away from him, though, a challenge in my eyes.
He walks over, wrapping his arms around me. My arms are pulled into my chest, and I can’t help but be impressed by the way he can still envelop me. His chin is resting on the top of my head, and I’m scared to move, breathe, or even blink for fear of the moment coming to an end.
“You’re amazing. Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”
“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” I say with a smile. My heart sinks when he releases me from his grasp. He slips his hands up my shoulders, caresses my neck, and moves his way up until he is gripping my cheeks. Gently, he pulls me closer, our lips finding one another. My head is swimming, and I release all of myself into the moment. He kisses me in a way that makes me curl my toes and lose all feeling in my fingertips. If fireworks actually could erupt from a kiss, it would be this one. His lips linger a moment, then the kiss ends.
“Come on, we should probably ask around at the club for some of the best places to go,” Dean says, releasing my face and grabbing hold of one of my hands.
“A place for where?”
“Tattoos,” he answers casually.
“You’re getting a tattoo? Oh God, don’t tell me you’re getting a tattoo of my name or something,” I mock.
He laughs. “No, but you are.”
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Well, not of your name, but not of my name either,” he continues with a chuckle. He turns and faces me. “You’re the bravest woman I have ever met, and I want you to always know that it’s okay for you to miss them.”
“So … what? I’m supposed to get a tattoo of Travis and Katie?”
“Something that makes you think of them.”
Instantly, I remember the nickname I used to call my daughter, and I whisper, “Katie B
ird.”
Dean shakes his head. “What?”
I swallow hard. I haven’t felt her around me in so long, but as I say her nickname, it’s as if she is right here with me. “I called her my Katie Bird.”
“That’s nice,” he says in a low and smooth tone.
“You don’t think it’s weird? To get a tattoo for them?”
“I suggested it, so why would I think it’s weird?”
I smile. I have to look away before I burst. “I want to get a bird tattoo.”
“That sounds perfect.” He squeezes my hand. “And for Travis?”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Half my tattoos are about ex-girlfriends … how could I mind?”
“Seriously?” I gasp, my head swooping in his direction, mouth hanging open wide.
He laughs wildly, then stops, focusing on my eyes. “No, silly. I’m messing with you. And I’m beyond okay with you loving him as much as you do. I hope one day you might love me that way.”
“Dean—” I say, my voice cracking. Don’t ruin it. Don’t tell him you don’t have enough love left in you for that.
“I know.” He nods. It’s in his eyes. He already knows I’m half empty in the love department. “So what are you going to get for him?”
I think about it for a second, and the answer is easy. “I like to think they’re together, so I’m going to get two birds.”
I fear I might run from him, from this selfless gift of caring he’s offering me, but I know I can’t. Deeper than that fear is the one that tells me if I did run, then I might fade from existence altogether. Instead, I tighten my grip on his hand and let him lead me from the bus. I’m about to get a new tattoo.
I stare into the mirror; the smile it’s reflecting isn’t recognizable. Who are you? I take the time to do my hair and makeup, I eat a healthy and well-balanced diet, and I even go for walks. Dean has had a tremendous effect on me.
Pulling out a hair clip, I twist one side of my chestnut hair and pin it up. I remove the tube of plum-colored lipstick from my purse and reapply. With widened fingers, I carefully smooth out my shirt, ensuring it lays properly over the waistline of my slim fit jeans. I smile, pleased with the way the ensemble complements my curves. I’m confident Dean will approve.
