Just Give Me a Reason

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “I still…you know. I still wanted sex.”

  “But you never went looking for it somewhere else?”

  “I never cheated,” he says firmly. “No.”

  I stop for a minute to catch my breath, and when he pauses beside me, I reach into the pack he’s carrying for my water. “I’m not surprised by that.” I open the cap and tip the bottle back for a drink. “Impressed but not surprised.”

  He accepts my offer of the bottle and swallows a sip. “Thanks?”

  “I guess I don’t understand marriage, though. Or any long-term relationship. I mean, maybe it starts out good. But it almost always fizzles out. Or starts to feel like a burden. And people just…stay.”

  Tony tucks the water into the bag and continues walking alongside me. “It’s not like that for everyone.”

  “No.” I laugh. “You’re right. Some people actively hate each other and they still stay married.”

  He shakes his head. “True. But some marriages work, don’t you think? They stay strong. Ray and Holly will be like that, I hope.”

  “They’d better be,” I say. “Or I’ll punch Ray right in his sweet face.”

  Tony laughs. “Don’t worry about Ray. He’s a stand-up guy.”

  “I know that. It’s only, you know…sometimes things fall apart, and people mean well, but they can’t hold it together.”

  “So they shouldn’t try?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not saying that.”

  “What, then?”

  “I’m saying I don’t know why so many people choose marriage or monogamy or whatever, when it’s obvious that most long-term relationships kind of suck. Hardly anyone even considers the possibility that being single might be better.”

  Tony stops and looks at me.

  “Have you ever been in love, Beth?”

  I pause and turn to him. “Why do you ask that?”

  He shrugs. “I’m just wondering. If you’ve ever had to, you know, reconcile any of this with your own…personal feelings. Difficult feelings. If it’s ever been hard for you to walk away.”

  I stare at him for a long time. “I’ve never…no. I put the brakes on when I see things start to go that way. Because you’re right—it makes things harder.”

  He resumes walking. “Aren’t you taking a black-and-white view of it, though? Like there are only two choices. Be with one person forever and lose yourself, and never have sex again, or be single? I think there are ways to be in a relationship and still be independent. And sexually satisfied.” He sighs. “At least I hope so.”

  “But the odds are crap.”

  “Yeah, well.” Tony gazes up the incline. “You could say the same about winning the lottery.”

  I snort. “True. But not everyone hits the jackpot twice, like Holly and Ray did. And not many people stay happy together in the long run.”

  “Not many people stay happy, period,” Tony rejoins. “Who do you know, in or out of a relationship, who is truly, genuinely happy?”

  I make a face. “That’s pretty cynical.”

  “It’s just realistic, Beth. Life is hard. We’re not owed constant ecstasy, you know what I mean?”

  “Maybe not,” I say carefully. “But occasional ecstasy would be nice.”

  Instead of answering, Tony points up the path. “I think we’re almost at the top.”

  I look up past the rise, and sure enough, a clearing is emerging several hundred yards above. We scale it together, energized by the possibility of open sky. In a few minutes, we’ve reached a span of flat boulders that look out over the Catskills. On the horizon, the sun is setting in brush strokes of pink and orange, and below, trees, lakes, and tiny towns stretch out for too many miles to count.

  Tony takes my hand and leads me to a section of smooth rock. Then he opens his pack and brings out a blanket and a bottle of sparkling grape juice with two clear plastic cups.

  “Figured you couldn’t have wine.”

  There are strawberries, too, and roasted cashews. And a few of the ginger snaps we never finished the other night. He lays it all out on the blanket and helps me sit.

  “Tony. This is very sweet.”

  “Well,” he says. “If I’m only going to date you for one week, might as well do it right.”

  I smile and lean back on one hand. He pours me a glass of juice and we watch the sunset, side by side on the blanket. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, gazing at the sky. “So most people aren’t happy, huh?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

  “Probably not.”

  He turns and looks at me. “You are, though. I was thinking that earlier. That you seem happy to me.”

  I nod, considering that. “I’d say so, yeah. What about you?”

  “I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath in. “I have a lot to be thankful for.”

  “Well, yes,” I agree. “You do. And you’re a good person.”

  “Thank you.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder a little. “But I bet you’d be happier if you were less repressed.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What is it with that word? I’m not repressed.”

  “Right.”

  I look back toward the view. But I feel his eyes on me still.

  “I’m not,” he says again, and I turn back to him.

  “You are, Tony. And it’s for good reasons, don’t get me wrong. You’re a nice guy. And maybe because of that, I don’t know, you hold back. You know what I mean? You hold back on what you want.” I narrow my eyes. “I hope I’m not offending you.”

  “Not that that would stop you,” he says.

  I grin. “I see you’re getting to know me.”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “A little bit.”

  “Still think you can handle me?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows? Since I’m repressed and all, maybe neither of us knows what I can handle.”

  His eyes flare suddenly, as though he’s realized too late the connotations of what he’s said. He looks away.

  I lean back on my hands and watch his flushed face in profile.

  I don’t like to think of Tony trudging uphill his whole life, trying to do the right thing and stay on the correct path. Only to see it all come to nothing. His work, his marriage—everything he tried so hard to hold together.

  If he is in fact repressed, what has it achieved? What has all his rigid discipline been for, in the end?

  I saw all of that stripped away last night, if only briefly. But it was just for a few moments, and only after he’d made sure to take care of me.

  I want to think that Tony could handle more than the narrow spectrum of joy he’s allowed himself all these years. But first he’d have to accept that he wants more than that.

  That he needs more.

  I set my drink down, deciding something, and rise to my feet.

  “Get up,” I tell him.

  He tilts his head to the side and smiles gently. “What?”

  I gaze down at him, stretched out on the rock in the twilight. He’s here on the mountain now, but next week he’ll be back in the city. Wearing a dress shirt and pacing the aisles of his store, wondering what went wrong. He’ll blame himself. He’ll put his head down and tell himself he needs to work harder.

  Day after day, week after week. Doing what’s best and what’s right, and still getting nowhere. Still feeling like some kind of failure.

  It makes me angry suddenly.

  “I said get the fuck up.”

  His smile slips, replaced by a harsh exhale, like I’ve touched him somewhere hidden. Somewhere raw.

  When he hesitates, I lean down and grip the thick hair at the base of his neck, and pull his head back. “Now,” I tell him, and he gasps audibly.

  But he rises and stands before me, and slowly I unwind the linen scarf from my neck.

  I look around us, into the woods beyond the trail. Light is rapidly draining from the sky, and no one i
s here but us. “Follow me,” I say.

  I turn and walk over the flat boulders, into the brush where the trees are thick and dark.

  He follows, snapping branches as he goes, and when I find the right place, I stop abruptly.

  “Stand against that tree.”

  He pauses, and I move in. I grab his shirt and push him hard into the tree bark. I hold his gaze there for a long moment, taking in the heat in his eyes. The ripple of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

  “Give me your arm,” I tell him.

  “Beth.” He looks at me in the dying light.

  I step close, almost right up against him, and whisper, “Give me your fucking arm.”

  He breathes in sharply and holds his hand out to me.

  I tie one end of the scarf around his wrist. Tight enough that he won’t be able to slip out of it. Then I press him back against the tree, and walk around the other side of it, spooling the scarf out along the trunk. When I come back, I knot the linen over his other wrist. So that he’s tied firmly, upright. Against the tree in the gathering dark.

  Then I step back.

  Tony breathes out a harsh breath. “What are you doing?”

  I stand close enough that he can see me clearly, but I don’t touch him. “I’m doing whatever you want me to do.”

  “Beth—”

  “The catch,” I interrupt, “is that I won’t do anything unless you ask me to. Unless you tell me to.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to touch you, Tony?”

  He adjusts his back against the tree. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to kiss you, maybe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me to do it.”

  He strains forward, but the ties hold him. “Beth, I…”

  I move in close, right in his space, and breathe against his lips. He tries to lean in, but I snap myself back. “What do you want?”

  “I…I don’t know. I just…”

  I slide down to my knees, close but not touching, until I’m kneeling before him. My mouth is inches away from his zipper. A cacophony of crickets presses in around us, along with the dark scent of soil and turning leaves.

  I breathe against him. “What do you want, Tony?”

  His knees buckle a little, but he catches himself. “St-stand up. Okay? Stand up, please.”

  I lean back on my heels and then stand. “You’re very polite, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “What I want,” I say, undoing the buttons of my sweater, “is for you to stop holding back. If you’re not repressed, then show me that you’re not. Take what you need.” I pull the sweater off my shoulders and toss it on the ground. The cool evening air hits my skin.

  Tony’s eyes close. “I like…I like seeing you shiver like that.”

  “Do you?” A pulse of heat rolls through me.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I say. “Tell me what else you want to see.”

  He opens his eyes, and I bring a hand up and caress one tight nipple. “This?”

  “Yes,” he breathes.

  “You want me to touch my breasts?” I bring my hand down. “Then tell me to.”

  He groans.

  I move closer. “Tell me.”

  “Touch your breasts,” he says, and when I do, he blows out a hard breath.

  “Over my shirt, like this?”

  “N-no,” he says, but then thinks better of it. “But you’ll be…you’ll be cold if you take it off.”

  I pull my cotton shirt over my head and throw it on top of my sweater. “Then make sure I stay warm.”

  Tony’s palms are flat against the tree. When I unsnap my bra and toss it aside, his fingers grip the bark until his knuckles are white.

  “What if someone comes up the path?” he whispers.

  I take my breasts in my hands. “I guess they’ll get a show.”

  We only have a few more minutes left of light. There’ll be a certain charm to full darkness, too, but until then, I make use of Tony’s ability to see. I play languorously with my nipples while he watches.

  “Like this?” I ask him.

  “Yes,” he says, breathless. He shifts against the tree. I can see the swell of his erection along the line of his zipper and I want to touch him, but I won’t do it. Not yet.

  Not until he tells me to.

  “Is this all you want?” My voice is not as steady as it was a few minutes ago.

  “Kiss me,” he says, and there’s an edge to his words now.

  I move in and lick his open mouth, and he makes a strangled sound.

  I slip my tongue in and he captures it with his. It’s the only part of me he can hold, and he intends to keep it as long as he can. He kisses me, and my fingers move over my nipples, and soon I’m moaning into his mouth.

  He tears his lips away for only a second. “My shirt,” he says, and immediately my hands go to the buttons. I open it quickly and slide my breasts over his bare skin.

  He groans.

  “Your hand,” he manages. “Between your…your legs. Can you…will you touch yourself while you kiss me?”

  I make a tight sound and slide my hand under my skirt.

  “Are you wet?”

  To answer, I bring my hand up and slide my fingers into his mouth.

  “Beth,” he says, and sucks them in. “God.”

  “What? What more do you want?”

  He hesitates, shutting his eyes again.

  His cock is hard against my belly. I know what he wants.

  But I want him to ask for it first.

  “What, Tony?”

  I slide down his body, down to my knees. So that I’m kneeling before him again. My hands go to his hips, holding him in place. I can feel him shaking.

  “Do you want me to unzip you?”

  He nods, but the light is finally failing, and I can barely see him.

  “Say the words.”

  “I want…I want you to take down my zipper. And…and take my dick out.”

  I grip his hips tighter when he says that word. Then I unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down. “And then what?” I ask him.

  “And then…oh, God.”

  I pull his waistband down and free his erection. He’s huge and hot in my hand, silky and strong.

  “And then what?” I blow on him lightly, and he shudders.

  “I want you to…can you…can you kiss me?”

  I lean back innocently. “Kiss your mouth?”

  He makes a sound of frustration, and to pacify him, I lick a circle around the swollen head of his penis. Which messes me up as much as it does him. I want to slide my mouth over the whole length of him, to feel him hot and hard on my tongue.

  “Say what you want, Tony,” I tell him, breathless. “Tell me to suck your dick. And I will. I’ll fill my mouth with you. But you have to say the words.”

  He strains against the ties. Against the tree. In the looming dark he is a thick, deep shadow. I feel him and smell him, but I can’t see him.

  “Suck my…Beth.” He groans and pushes his cock toward my face. “Suck my dick. Please, God. Just—”

  I take his cock in my mouth in one full slide, holding him at the base with my left hand, and he bucks into me.

  Anyone really could come upon us right now with a flashlight—any stray hiker seeking the sunset like we did. But I’m far too gone to worry or care.

  “T-touch yourself, Beth.” Tony’s voice is firmer now. Harsher. He rolls his hips and slides his cock deeper into my mouth.

  I do as he tells me and reach under my skirt, between my legs. My underwear is wet; I push it aside and stroke over my clit. When I moan, my mouth tightens around him, and he likes that. He groans and jerks forward.

  And then he checks himself and pulls back.

  He’s trying to slow down, to not be too rough. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and I appreciate that. But at the same time, he’s so fucking careful, always. Careful to do the r
ight thing, to be a good man. To stay on the straight and narrow path.

  I don’t think he knows who he is under all that discipline. All that self-control.

  I might not be the woman for him in the long term; I’m not that woman for any man. But I can give him one gift today. The gift of losing himself. The gift of learning what lies beneath the nice guy he so studiously presents to the world.

  I pull my mouth away, and he makes a desperate sound that slices right through me. I stand and feel my way to his right wrist in the darkness, and untie it.

  “What are you—” He stumbles a little now that his hands are free, and he almost loses his balance. I press my palm to his chest to steady him. His heart beats wildly, and I let myself feel that for a moment before I go down on my knees again.

  I take his hands and place them firmly at the back of my head. The scarf still trails from his left wrist. It coils over my shoulder and down my back.

  “Move my mouth where you want it,” I tell him.

  “Beth…”

  I grip his thighs and look up toward his face. I can’t see him, but I feel the way the tremors move through him.

  I want this man to come, hard. I want him to lose control.

  “Tony,” I say. “Use me. I give you permission. You have my full and free consent, okay? I want you to fuck my mouth. Just…take what you need. Take it.”

  He hesitates, his fingers tightening slowly in my hair.

  “Will you…will you touch yourself? While I—”

  “Is that what you want? You want me to come, too?”

  He hisses out a breath. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now guide my mouth where you want it.”

  He pauses for a moment and brushes his fingers gently over my face, my hairline. A shiver ripples through me, into my heart, and my hands dig into his thighs. So that when he thrusts forward, it takes me by surprise.

  His cock surges into my mouth, into my throat. His hands go to the back of my head and grip my hair, pulling my face tight up against his body. He’s hard and overwhelming, and he makes a sound above me like he’s being ripped open. I reach up and take the base of him in my left fist, to hold him steady and to keep him from choking me.