IT

by Unknown

  new Jaguar or BMW; their neighbors' cars were routinely broken into.

  Mal had the best luck wherever street parking was concerned, said he

  simply visualized a spot, and an opening appeared.

  "In that case, why don't you visualize us winning the lottery?" she

  teased.

  They no sooner opened the door to their condo when the phone

  started ringing.

  "Ignore it," Malachy said, leading the way to their bedroom.

  "It might be Casey," Lana countered, before realizing what she was

  saying. Casey didn't seem like a threat because he was leaving town

  soon but the alchemy of any relationship can be a fragile thing; what

  happened that night would make it difficult for the three friends to just

  "hang out" together again. Even before the night had begun, she had a

  feeling the chef's invitation augured trouble.

  Malachy took Lana's face in his hands and looked at her for a long

  moment.

  "Ignore it," he repeated.

  He began peeling off her clothes layer by layer then swiftly

  removed his own garb. His desire was palpable and Lana knew this

  was an opportunity to repair whatever fissures had rent their sweet

  20

  union over the past few months, that this was in fact a slide toward

  grace.

  "It's going to be really good, isn't it?" she asked, her voice soft as a

  petal.

  Malachy opened the top drawer of their dresser and retrieved a

  leather restraint.

  "I want to take you someplace you haven't been before, L. I want

  to take you and show you that you're mine. You belong with me and

  you belong to me."

  Lana could feel wetness moving over her like a cloud. She was his

  already.

  She offered him her wrists to be bound and he secured them with

  the manacles. He grabbed the pillows off the bed and tossed them at

  her feet.

  "Now, I want you to inhale my cock like it's the only thing in the

  world that can satisfy you. Give me something Promethean."

  And she did. She kissed and coddled the tip of his penis before

  listing into a primal sucking position. Malachy gently held the back

  of her head as she opened herself up to him completely, holding

  nothing back. Her loins trembled from the ferocity of her mission and

  moisture from her mound ran unchecked, creating trails of dew down

  her inner thighs.

  She could have remained buoyed like that forever with her lips

  caressing the base of her lover's shaft, surrendering wholly to the

  rigors of deep throat but Malachy pulled her up, up and down she

  went into a supine position where he took her without foreplay.

  He mounted her and thrust his cock deep inside her quim, knowing

  she'd be wet as a river for him; she was wet before he even put his

  cock in her mouth – fellatio was Lana's idea of foreplay. He fucked

  her hard while murmuring tender words in her ears and the dichotomy

  sent her over the edge, she came and cried and let that night stamp her

  with the indelible knowledge she could never love another.

  After love, when they were curled together on the sofa eating a

  snack and watching some mindless albeit entertaining show on TV,

  21

  Malachy turned to Lana and said, "You asked if we have enough in

  common, babe. You wanted to know if it's just about sex."

  "Yeah," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  "We wouldn't have lasted this long if it was just sex. You know

  with us it's all about love. I love you, Lana. And I know you love

  me."

  She chuckled into his bicep. "Yeah, I've got it pretty bad."

  And so, the couple overcame their little dry period, no longer

  playing Box and Cox or wondering if the other person was bored.

  They were happy. There's a funny thing about happiness: if you

  don't guard it carefully and keep it under wraps, someone might come

  along and jealously key it like a new Mercedes.

  It was on a Monday morning when Mal had left to teach a class that

  Lana thought she might never breathe freely again.

  Casey was waiting for her outside the condo; there was no telling

  how long he'd been standing there.

  "Casey. What are you doing here?"

  "There's something I have to say to you. Have coffee with me; we

  need to talk."

  "We can talk here."

  "C'mon, Trooper. I won't make you climb Mount Rainier just for a

  cappuccino."

  "Casey, only Mal calls me Trooper. Boyfriends and girlfriends

  give each other nicknames. You and I are friends, remember? You

  and Malachy are friends."

  The chef looked out of sorts. His hair was disheveled and he could

  have used a shave.

  "I doubt Malachy would consider me a friend now that I want to

  steal his girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about you, Lana. I want you

  to come with me to Berkeley."

  Lana gripped the ornamental railing that proffered a superfluous S-

  curve from the stoop of her condo to the sidewalk. She was only two

  steps away from concrete but feared she might buckle from this new

  affront.

  22

  "It's not just about what happened in my apartment," Casey

  continued. "I've wanted you from the moment I met you. It's just,

  you seemed happy with Malachy."

  "I am happy with Malachy."

  Casey looked away then returned his gaze to her concerned face.

  "He's using you, Lan. If he wanted to marry you, he would have made

  a commitment by now."

  "Go, Casey. I want you to leave and we'll forget we ever had this

  conversation. Good luck in Berkeley."

  "Well, take this and think about what I said." He handed her a

  postcard bright and cheery with the Golden Gate Bridge. On the back,

  Casey had written his new address and phone number.

  When the chef disappeared into the mire of yet another typical gray

  Seattle morning, Lana took one last look at the postcard before ripping

  it to pieces.

  For the most part, that day was like any other as she ran errands and

  checked off mundane tasks on her To Do list. She went about her

  business until she could anticipate hearing Malachy's footsteps, the

  soft squelch of his brogans against their hardwood floors vanquishing

  the clatter of Casey's judgment, the cacophony of his words

  confronting her only in the darkest hours of her insecurity, those small

  hours before dawn while Mal snored sweetly in his slumber: if he

  wanted to marry you, he would have made a commitment by now."

  23

  ROLE PLAY FOR A SPECIAL DAY

  Lana looked at her "Coffee for all Seasons" wall calendar and tried

  not to sag. She was staring another birthday in the face and the

  countenance wasn't smiling pretty.

  The youngest of a large brood, Lana had been the classic

  underachiever. Bouncing from job to job, never finishing college, she

  had worked for many years as a barista. That's how she met Malachy.

  She served him a macchiato and when her fingers accidentally

  brushed his, she felt more alive than she had ever felt in her life.

  For some women to fall in love, they need only build on an initial

 
; attraction. They might think, Wow, that guy's cute.

  Lana was a tough case. She needed a man who could distract her

  from thinking about her father because thinking about the old man put

  Lana in a dark, sooty angry frame of mind. When Lana thought about

  the countless cruelties she endured growing up, she was tempted to do

  bad things. Tempted to even the score. Life had been unfair; the

  world owed Lana big time.

  Or so she thought. The greatest thing about love was the mentality

  shift, the swift kick to the conscience. Life hadn't been fair to Lana

  but at least it had given her a new frame of reference and that frame

  was constantly focused on Malachy Moore, Hibernian hunk exemplar.

  He wasn't just handsome. He was patient, thoughtful and kind:

  everything a good man can be.

  A new frame of reference. Lana had known countless people

  whose parents were alcoholics or gamblers, irresponsible adults

  addicted to some vice or other who gave no hope to the kids they

  brought into the world. The lucky escaped the loop; the not so

  fortunate repeated the cycle of abuse.

  It was only with a good man Lana had learned not to dread her

  birthday. On one of the birthdays her father had bothered to

  remember, Lana had received a Waterpik. What ten or eleven year

  old kid uses a Waterpik? The intimidating instrument collected dust

  in Lana's closet before finding its way to her father's bathroom – its

  intended destination all along. When she was seven, she thought her

  24

  father had simply forgotten it was her day for balloons and cake so

  she asked him for ballet lessons. He laughed in her face and walked

  away. The worst was when she asked for a dog. No, you can't have a

  dog, he had said. We live too close to the main road. It'll get hit and

  you'll start crying. Sure enough, shortly after Lana left home, the old

  man got himself a pet. A Bichon Frise, no less. Called it Fifi.

  Cooked it chicken every night to mix in with her dry food because a

  pet named Fifi always deserves a treat.

  "What are you thinking about, love?"

  Lana twirled around to see Malachy, the love of her life, staring at

  her intently with his arms crossed over his white button-down shirt.

  "How long have you been standing there?"

  Malachy took her in his arms and inhaled the apple scent of her

  shampoo. "Long enough to guess where you're going with that

  thousand yard stare. You were looking right into your dysfunctional

  family's closet. You're afraid I'll give you pencil shavings for your

  birthday. Or an ant farm. Actually, I thought I'd get you an economy-

  sized bottle of awful-tasting cough syrup."

  "All cough syrups taste awful."

  "Yeah, but you won't notice the taste after you try my toadstool

  layer cake lanced with too many birthday candles to make you feel

  old."

  Lana looked up into her lover's eyes and saw a world full of hope

  there.

  "I love you, Malachy."

  "I'm not your father, Lan. I would never belittle you or hurt you in

  any way."

  Mal pressed his lips to Lana's cheek and held her close until

  nothing else mattered but the two of them in their cozy living room.

  Their relationship had lasted through all manner of ups and downs.

  They even survived the drama of a love triangle initiated by their

  friend Casey. Casey was a marvelous chef who wasn't taking his last

  breakup well. He invited his good friends Lana and Malachy over for

  a farewell dinner before he moved to California. After much drink

  and convivial talk, Lana confessed to a longtime fantasy of orally

  25

  pleasuring two men at once. Her fellating must have been pretty good

  because Casey wasn't satisfied with a one-time offering. He asked

  Lana to leave her peerless man for a different life, one filled with

  culinary as well as carnal delights.

  She didn't even have to think about it, of course. Malachy was the

  only man she had ever wanted. If Mal left her for someone else, she

  would simply never date again.

  If he left her, she would die a little more each day. Malachy was

  the first thought she had in the morning. When they weren't together,

  she talked to him in her head. At night sometimes, she dreamed about

  him. Casey tried to plant a kernel of doubt by suggesting she was

  being used. His Parthian shot had been: If he wanted to marry you, he

  would have made a commitment by now.

  What a thing to say! Lots of people dated or lived together more

  than two years without getting married. That didn't mean they didn't

  love each other enough. What did it mean?

  "What does love mean to you, Malachy?" Lana had asked midway

  through her birthday dinner. He had taken her to a seafood restaurant.

  There was nothing like a plate of bowtie pasta covered with sockeye

  salmon in a lemon cream sauce to make a girl feel special. He had

  surprised her with a stack of books including a novel autographed by

  one of her favorite writers; he was the only man who had ever given

  her books. He had also given her a giant umbrella which, when fully

  opened, gave passersby a canvas of Renoir's The Umbrellas: a perfect

  gift for a Seattleite.

  Malachy sat back in his booth, running elegant fingers through his

  thick black hair. "Hmm. Good question. For Jenny and Oliver of

  Love Story fame, 'Love means not ever having to say you're sorry.'

  I'm not too proud to apologize when there's a miscommunication, so I

  guess for me, love is all wrapped up in the way you make me feel.

  The way you look at me, like you can't live without me."

  "I can't."

  They were holding hands and close to kissing when a waiter swung

  by with a dessert menu.

  26

  "Not that you two aren't sweet already," the server observed with a

  wry smile.

  Malachy said, "I guess he's seen as many people break up as cuddle

  in these booths."

  "Yeah, well, if a penis dropped from the sky and fell in my lap I'd

  know just what to do with it."

  "Lana, you're always horny!"

  "That's because I'm always with you."

  "Let's skip dessert. I want to take you home where your real

  present awaits."

  "Wait, I want to tell you about a dream I had last night."

  Malachy rolled his eyes good-naturedly. His girlfriend's dreams

  had a way of turning into shaggy-dog stories but it was her special

  day, after all.

  "I had a dream that I applied for massage school again; I'd get it

  right this time. In the dream, I was apologizing to one of my

  instructors for being such a bad student. I wasn't a bad student per se;

  I just couldn't touch people without feeling like a whore. Funny, I can

  write you the most erotic love letters and feel perfectly good about it.

  It's when I'm touching someone for real that makes me feel dirty ...

  especially if it's someone I'm not attracted to and I'm getting paid by

  the hour."

  Malachy laughed. "You obviously just want to be touching me,

  and guess what? You just gave me an idea for a perfect role play.

  Wh
en we get home, you'll be my masseuse. Only the kind that ends

  up giving me a blow job."

  Lana bussed his cheek. "What are we waiting for?"

  They got out of the restaurant in a hurry. Malachy didn't think the

  service was great that night but he still left a generous tip; that's just

  the kind of guy he was. One summer waiting tables his freshman year

  in college was all it took to instill lifelong empathy for anyone whose

  job required a food handler's permit.

  The restaurant was just a tenth of a mile away from their Belltown

  condo so they walked home. They walked so briskly, by the time they

  reached the condo and sprinted up two flights of stairs (Malachy

  27

  believed elevators should be abolished) the two lovers had worked up

  a sweat.

  A perfect beginning for role play.

  "Okay, I'll take a shower first and put something skimpy on. Then

  you wait in the hall, knock on the door and we'll take it from there."

  Mal caressed Lana's bottom, pulling her in for a deep albeit sweaty

  kiss.

  "And what's my masseuse's name?"

  "Sunny!"

  "Nah, that makes me think of Al Pacino's brother in The Godfather.

  How 'bout Champagne?"

  "Champagne it is." Lana took a quick shower and slipped into a

  diaphanous wrap and marabou feather mules. She was feeling like a

  pro (with heart!) already.

  "Okay, handsome. Outside you go."

  Malachy went out into the hallway and knocked as instructed. His

  masseuse opened the door, eyeing him appreciatively.

  "Hi, handsome. Here for your appointment?"

  Mal looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

  "Yeah, I really need to relax. The agency promised me a blonde.

  They didn't say I'd be getting such a beautiful blonde."

  "Charmer! Why don't you take a shower and when you come out,

  I'll have your table ready."

  "Thanks, Champagne."

  While Malachy showered, Lana set up the massage table she had to

  purchase for massage school. She never did get licensed. With her

  surfeit of sexual energy, she would just be inviting trouble. She was

  so glad her education wasn't going to waste, though; she was lucky to

  have a man who appreciated sensual touch.

  Malachy emerged wearing only a towel. It was all she could do not

  to jump him right then. The sight of his bare skin was enough to take