Hope Falls_Giving a Little

by Frances Elliot

  The face inches from her own shocked her and her eyes widened. She’d had no expectations, no thoughts – had almost, in fact, forgotten who was fucking her this way. Joe, she could tell, had been watching her carefully and his face was suffused with amazement and pleasure. He looked back into her eyes for one second, then the rhythmic movement of his hips faltered, resumed and stopped completely.

  Averting his eyes, he pulled out, put his hands on her torso and quickly flipped her over, then rammed back inside her – all in one flowing movement. Emily moaned again, feeling the deeper penetration; she clawed at the pillow and slid it under her chest. She knew precisely why he’d turned her over and didn’t care – if he needed to de-personalize this, fine. He could use her however he liked right now. As he increased the speed of his short thrusts, she arched her back, pressing her ass into him, her excitement building steadily. She let out a sigh and then did something she’d never done with a man before.

  With only a minor awareness of her actions, she slid her hand down and between her legs to touch herself. Her eyes were closed; she began to pant and then unexpectedly, Joe slowed, pulling his cock almost all the way out before gliding smoothly back in. It felt as if he were relishing each millimeter of her, learning her, taking his time.

  He’d been so silent that when he spoke she was startled. “Wait,” he said softly, drawing the word out.

  Emily felt his hand slide down her arm to the back of her hand, controlling its movement, slowing her. “There,” he said, his voice low but commanding, “just like this.”

  The pressure on the back of her hand continued for a moment and then was gone. Now he gripped her hips tightly, forcing her to accept his pace – she had never felt so used, so fucked before. She was lost, everything within her concentrated only on this moment and this act.

  A new, unfamiliar wave of pleasure began somewhere inside her, in some place she couldn’t even locate. Her hands were tingling but her breathing was slow, regular, easy. “Joe,” she said, in a dreamy voice she barely recognized as her own, “Joe, I—” Her breath caught in her throat and a tremor ran through her, followed by another, even stronger.

  As the waves of satisfaction mounted and rolled through her, she tried to stifle her cries of delight. The room around her, Joe, even her body itself seemed to dissolve; nothing existed except the sensations that shook her. Gradually she became aware that the low, continuous moan she heard was coming from her own throat.

  Her body began to quiet except for an occasional spasm. Joe had stopped moving, she realized, and she felt only a vague curiosity about what he was doing. He was still inside her, still hard, but he seemed to be waiting for something. Then she felt his hands caressing her, running from her ass up and along her back and she heard him say, very softly, “Wow.”

  Emily opened her eyes and stared at the back of her wrist, taking a moment to recall that it was a part of her. She felt Joe begin to move again, his strokes hard and rapid, re-igniting the clenching inside her. He’d been nearly silent all along but now she heard him gasp, felt him shudder, and then he collapsed, stretching out along her back. His hand brushed away the damp hair and he kissed her shoulder gently.

  Neither of them spoke. Feeling suddenly…not awkward, but weirdly enough, shy, Emily stirred beneath Joe’s weight and he rolled off to her side. She was surprised to feel his hand rest gently on her head for a moment and then begin stroking her hair. Several minutes passed before he spoke. “Emily,” he said, his voice low.

  She turned onto her side to face him and slid the pillow under her cheek. His eyes, the pupils black and enormous in the dim light, seemed softly somber. “Emily, I want to ask you something and I want you to promise to tell the truth.”

  He was so serious. Emily braced herself, expecting something upsetting. “All right,” she said.

  “Promise? Remember, baby, I want so much to trust you.”

  “I promise.”

  There was a long pause while he carefully scanned her face. Then he stared into her eyes, hesitated another second and said, almost whispering, “Fint?”

  For a moment she didn’t understand; she stared back at him blankly and when the word sank in, she had to turn her face into the pillow to hide her laughter. But she calmed quickly, arranged her expression and turned her head back to him. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” she said formally.

  His eyes narrowed with exaggerated suspicion; she looked back at him as innocently as she could. “I have ways, you know, of making you talk,” he said, moving his hand to her ass and resting it there.

  Oh, I know you do, she thought. She wanted desperately to say “show me,” but instead she inched over to kiss him lightly. “I have to leave. Abby will go in to check on Emma when she gets back.”

  She got up and turned to look at him. He’d folded his hands behind his head and lay staring up at the ceiling. “Ah, what a shame. I’m disappointed in you – it is always that kind of dishonesty that dooms relationships.”

  Laughing, she leant to give him another quick kiss; he put his hand firmly on the back of her neck and slid his tongue into her mouth. Just as suddenly, he released her, turned his eyes back to the ceiling and said, “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three – Thursday Morning

  Thanksgiving Day

  When he awoke the attic was bathed in a soft, muted light and Joe had no idea of the time. He fumbled for the Roosevelt-era alarm clock on the bedside table, saw it was almost nine and got up. The floorboards were cold and he shivered at a slight draft as he stood at the window, naked. The sky was gray, with thick clouds that threatened more snow.

  He found the plaid bathrobe under the bed, pulled on his jeans, then sat at the edge of the bed, running his daily mental assessment. Better than usual this morning, he thought. I honestly don’t feel as crappy as I should. In fact, I feel pretty fucking great.

  And of course, this was yet another occasion when he was forced to confront his consistent inability to predict women’s behavior. The girls who blushed if someone said a dirty word always turned out to be the ones who asked how he felt about threesomes; the women who whispered filthy stuff in his ear seemed shocked if he assumed they meant it.

  What had he expected from Emily? He tried to remember as he walked down to the bath with his shaving kit. Thinking back, it seemed he’d assumed she’d be a little reserved, a little shy, a little hesitant – nothing at all like the wanton, uninhibited creature he’d encountered last night. He smiled at himself in the mirror. Damn, came like a freight train, as they say. The kind of woman who could become addictive, the kind he usually avoided.

  Luckily, this one would be thousands of miles away in a couple of days, so it was probably okay to relax a little and enjoy himself. Why not? She had assured him they were both on the same sex-is-just-sex page. He shoved away some faint misgivings that it could easily become more to both of them and finished shaving.

  He’d showered and was reaching for the robe when he remembered that nearly everything he owned was sitting in the washer. Okay, time to go downstairs and face the crowd again, get in a little practice before even more relatives arrived. I’m just not used to people anymore, he thought, especially happy people.

  In the living room, Emily and Emma were sitting on the sofa watching the parade and eating cereal, their backs to him. He walked over to lay a hand on Emily’s shoulder. She turned to give him a quick cat-with-a-canary smile and returned her attention to the screen. Okay, good. She seemed happy, but perfectly sensible, not all moony or worse, embarrassed. He watched a high school marching band go by and then pointed. “What the heck is that thing?”

  They both turned with looks of utter astonishment at his ignorance. “That’s SpongeBob,” said Emma, as if he’d failed to recognize the President.

  “What is a—”

  Emily shot him a warning look. “Better not to ask,” she muttered. “Go get something to eat,” she added. “There’s cereal and Mom got
a coffeecake thing. And here, take these, will you?” she added, handing him the empty cereal bowls.

  Accepting the dishes, he said, “I forgot to put my stuff in the dryer. Do I need to call the tech department?”

  “Mom did it—she’s washing more towels or something.”

  On his way to the kitchen, Joe tried to re-gain his grip on reality. All this family stuff was so…seductive, he decided, smiling at the bowls in his hands. It was important to remember that very soon he’d be returning to his crummy room with the threadbare sofa and the drizzling showerhead. He shuddered.

  Vowing to keep in mind that this was just a short visit, he found the coffeepot and poured a cup, then leaned against the counter for a while. Smells great in here, he thought, but something’s missing… He peeked in the oven and found it warm, but unoccupied. He was turning away when something caught his eye.

  On top of the stove was a small misshapen blue dish being used as a spoon rest that seemed oddly familiar. He picked it up, curious. Idly flipping it over, he saw his own initials scratched into the unglazed clay on the bottom and he froze. It came back all at once – summer camp, the year he was nine, no eight, he’d proudly made way too many of these for his mom.

  She’d seemed so delighted with the first one that he’d kept on churning them out at every Arts and Crafts session, ignoring the lanyard-making and wood-carving. At some point, his mom had asked if he wanted to give one to Mrs. Elmore for her birthday and he’d eagerly selected this blue monstrosity.

  Had it really been sitting here for more than twenty years? It was chipped in several places and the glaze was worn thin, as if from use, but… He set it down hurriedly and wiped the tears from his face. She’d probably dug it out of some box in the garage when he’d said he might be coming. Nice of her, but completely unnecessary.

  He had to wipe his eyes again before he could see well enough to find the “coffeecake thing.” He heard Emily holler from the living room. “Joe? Will you bring Emma some orange juice? It’s in the door of the fridge.”

  When he delivered the juice, Emily patted the sofa next to her and told him to sit down – he obviously had some catching up to do in Pop Culture 101. Her dark hair was tousled; she wore navy plaid pajamas that intensified the color of her eyes, and the look on her face told him she was being deliberately provocative. He gave her what he hoped was a withering look and took a chair. “Where is everybody?” he asked.

  “Mom’s getting dressed; I don’t know what Abby and Aaron are doing…” She glanced at Emma and lowered her voice. “…But I can probably guess, and my dad’s next door, watching the Lions game in comfort. Although that’s a guess, too – he’s supposed to be basting the turkey.”

  “I wondered about that,” said Joe. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you missed all the excitement. It wouldn’t fit in the oven so Dad went out to the garage for the hacksaw and Mom almost started to cry but it’s all straightened out now, except someone has to run over every half hour to baste the thing. Thanksgiving Crisis Number One, averted.”

  “Think there are more to come?”

  “Count on it,” she said.

  The Rockettes came on, and in a pre-school teacher voice, Emily began, “And those girls are—”

  “Very funny. I haven’t been cryogenically frozen, for crying out loud – I am familiar with the Rockettes.” Screwed one once, he thought, in…Denver? Well, she said she was a Rockette, and had great legs, but not as great as…

  Emily was laughing but she must have noticed his eyes dropping to run up and down her body, because she stopped abruptly. She reached for a mug on the coffee table with a slightly shaky hand, took a sip and looked at him over the rim of the cup. He watched her wet her lips and take a deep breath. Look away, he told himself. Just look away.

  The front door opened, closed, and they heard someone stomping snow off their feet. A short blast of cold air blew through the room and with it, Mr. Elmore’s voice muttering, “Still too damn hot in here.”

  He walked in saying “Well that’s done, for the time being, anyway. Good morning, Joe, Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Same to you, Mike,” said Joe.

  “What’s the score, Dad?” asked Emily.

  “Ten-seven at the end of the quar—very funny, young lady. Where’s your mother?”

  “Still upstairs.”

  “SantaSantaSantaSanta!” cried Emma, up and pointing.

  “Yes, sweetie pie, and that means the parade is over. Shall we go see what grandma needs us to do now?”

  “Grandma needs potato peelers,” said Mrs. Elmore as she walked in. She wore a nice dress, an apron and her slippers.

  “I want to go in the snow,” said Emma.

  Joe stood up. “At your service, Mrs. El…Ellie. I am very close to getting my PhD in potato peeling. Lead on.”

  Standing at the kitchen counter, making short work of it, he reflected sadly that if they gave them out, he would indeed have an advanced degree in kitchen scut work. Let’s see – what else are you really good at, Joe? Mopping floors, breaking women’s hearts, tending bar, lifting heavy stuff in warehouses, making other people uncomfortable – that’s about it, fella. Oh, and leaving. He was very good at leaving. He shook his head and mentally shrugged.

  He looked out the window and saw the two girls making a very small, very crooked snowman. Emily still wore her pajamas under what he thought of as a “city coat,” and a pair of rubber boots that looked too large – she was moving around with an odd, scuffling gait. Emma seemed to be acting in a supervisory capacity; she stood with her arms crossed, watching Emily’s progress.

  It was beginning to snow lightly, just a few lazy flakes here and there, but the sky still looked ominous. Mrs. Elmore came over to fill an enormous pot with water, glanced out and said, “Oh, dear. I hope the roads stay clear…my goodness, have you finished already?”

  “Yep. Have you got another job for me or should I go get dressed?”

  The back door opened and Emily came in, flushed and smiling, a few snowflakes clinging to her hair. Joe’s spirits lifted so quickly he felt like he’d taken drugs. “We need,” she announced from the threshold, “a small carrot.”

  “Stay where you are, honey. I don’t want the floor all wet and slippery. Joe, look in the crisper and see if we have one, though I doubt it.”

  Joe rooted around and found one elderly carrot about the right size for a horse to nibble on. “Oh, much too big,” Emily said.

  He grabbed a knife, pared it down in an instant and walked over to place it in her gloved hand. “Well my, my, my,” she said softly, aiming those eyes at him. “There’s just no end to your talents, is there?”

  “You have no idea,” he said, just as softly, squeezing her hand. “I’ll show you later.”

  If he didn’t walk away, right now, this little conversation was going to lead to something embarrassing. Fortunately Mrs. Elmore began issuing a string of directions from behind them. “Joe, will you put the potatoes in and lift this pot onto the stove for me? And Emily, I think you should come in and get your sister up and then get dressed. And pry your father away from the television, tell him to get whatever he can out of the coat closet and take it up to our bedroom, please.”

  “I can take care of the closet,” said Joe, his eyes still on Emily. He wanted to slip his hands under that coat, pull her close, slide his hands down her body, press his lips to the base of her cool throat, hear her moan again.

  Haltingly, as if speaking an unfamiliar language, Emily said, “Okay, Mom. Emma’s cold already anyway.” She fumbled behind her for the doorknob and opened it, letting in a blast of cold air.

  Thank you, thought Joe. Just what I needed. One more second and I might have lost control. Emily gave him a last look, a look that shot through him and landed right between his legs. He turned his attention to the giant cauldron in the sink, tossing in the potatoes and hoping the opportunity to lift something heavy would quell his growing erection.

&nbs
p; He got a little more exercise going up and down the stairs with all kinds of junk – raincoats, jackets, a couple of sweaters, umbrellas, a bent curtain rod, the vacuum cleaner. Mr. Elmore glanced over from what looked like a pretty exciting game and offered to help; Joe told him no thanks, he didn’t mind at all.

  “Well, when you’re finished, come sit for a while. I don’t want to be the only conspicuous idler.”

  “Happy to, but I’d better collect my stuff and get dressed first,” said Joe. “Be back in a few minutes.”

  In the basement, he loaded his clothes into a basket then climbed back up to his attic lair. He couldn’t look around the room without images of Emily flashing across his mind – Emily standing at the top of the stairs in her sweet little nightgown, Emily on her back, opening her eyes to gaze up at him, Emily leaning over to kiss him goodnight… As he hastily made the bed and folded his clothes, he decided he should cut the visit short and get back on the road tomorrow, before he completely forgot what his life was really like.

  On the other hand, he knew himself well enough to know there was no way in hell he could leave without being with her again. Just once more, he told himself, just once more. And then he’d be gone.

  *

  Emily went through her bathroom and banged loudly on the connecting door. “Abby, Mom says to get your ass out of bed and go down and help for a change,” she yelled.

  A few minutes passed before the door opened and Abby came in, looking cross. “And I’m sure she put it just that way,” she said dryly.

  “Well, you know Mom,” said Emily, turning on the shower. “I’ll be done in here in a minute and then I’ll get Emma dressed. Close the door, okay?”

  Abby gave her another scowl before she left, saying, “At least you didn’t wake Aaron and the baby – you are always so bossy…” Her voice faded away.

  After the shower, Emily went over to the closet and looked at the dress she’d brought with regret. She held it in front of her and looked in the mirror over the dresser. “What do you think?” she asked Emma.