Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series

by Elizabeth J. Merrill

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Chase.”

  “Please, David, call me Dot,” Mom added while batting her eyes. I couldn’t help but roll mine.

  “We weren’t sure when ya’ll would show up, so we went ahead,” I explained while gesturing to my General Tso’s.

  “Of course, that’s what food courts are for, right?”

  “I want pizza,” Veronica interrupted.

  “Sure,” Mom replied while being tugged towards the pizza by Veronica. She yelled back as Veronica led her from view. “We’ll join you in just a minute!”

  “We don’t have to wait for them to finish,” I told David.

  “Whatever you want,” he replied, but I noticed that his knee bounced even quicker.

  David

  The instant I buried my nose in B.D.’s neck, my body relaxed, reassured that I hadn’t banned her from my bed and my life. Apparently I can no longer sleep or even relax without her near and more than 24 hours without her had taken a toll. The first night I had managed to fall asleep at a normal time, but woke up at 4am and gave up trying to sleep at 5. I pulled out the specs on the coding project from Hurricane and started figuring the trajectories of the various objects—including a severed head—that could randomly fly out of the exploding building I was coding. I thought I would get sleepy and take a nap sometime during the day, but I worked straight through. Last night I managed to fall asleep sometime after midnight and woke up around 4am. At 5am, I gave up and got back to work on the programming project. I’ve almost finished doing all the calculations already and should be able to start programming soon. It’s good to get so much work done, but I feel awful.

  B.D. drug me over to the Chinese food, and I picked the least disgusting dish—the Moo Goo Gai Pan. It wasn’t swimming in grease and the veggies looked fresh. I tried to calm down and eat at a normal, civilized human speed, but I was anxious to get her alone. I wanted to grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and sprint home. Then her mother and sister showed up. I ground my teeth and squeezed out my best parent lube, which seemed to work. Her mother didn’t give me dirty looks anyway.

  A few minutes later, they both returned with triangular-shaped oil slicks masquerading as food. Her mother also had a sad little salad that she put between her and Veronica obviously to share, but Mrs. Chase just took a few desultory bites and Veronica didn’t touch it. Through out I managed to nod and even respond appropriately despite having no idea what Mrs. Chase was going on about. And as soon as B.D. started chewing her last bite of chicken, I jumped up.

  “I guess we’ll head over to my house,” I announced.

  “But you’ve only eaten half your food,” Mrs. Chase objected.

  “I wasn’t really that hungry,” I answered.

  “Fine, fine. When should I pick you up, B.D.?” Mrs. Chased asked.

  Before I could say anything, B.D. shut her mother down. “David will take me home, and even if he couldn’t, I could walk. He only lives a few blocks away.” Before her mother could ask more questions, B.D. closed out the discussion. “And I’ll probably be quite late. We’re eating dinner with David’s mother, and she gets home from work late. By the time we eat, clean-up, and visit, it will probably be 10pm. So don’t wait up. We’re having dinner with you tomorrow night, so we really need to give Candi a chance to talk to us. It’s the polite thing to do. And it’s not her fault that her job runs late during the holidays.”

  B.D. grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the parking garage before I even realized that she had given her mother the brush off.

  “Okay, call me if you need anything,” her mother called out as we threw away our trash and left the food court.

  *

  Back at the house, B.D. looked around with big eyes. She had never been to my house, but I could give her a tour later. I led her back to my bedroom. I backed her up to my bed, ripped her turtleneck over her head and unbuttoned her jeans. I pushed her onto the bed, popped the boots off each of her feet, and ripped her jeans off her body in one, long whoosh.

  “Wow, you’re determined,” she squealed.

  I growled at her while I toed off my boots, tore my sweater over my head, and yanked off my jeans. Her eyes widened and dilated as she crab walked up the bed. I stalked her across the bed like a predator. I growled a little more. I crawled between her legs, up her body and kissed her mouth—a long, deep, satisfying kiss. Then I started working back down her body. I kissed down her jaw to between her breasts. Her breath got quicker. I slid my hand underneath her body and unhooked her bra, then slid it off her arms and flung it away without looking where it went. I tongued then sucked her right breast. B.D. gasped. I moved to the left breast while I rolled her right nipple between my fingers. B.D. moaned. I worked my way between her breasts and down her belly with little kisses. I grabbed her panties and slid them down her legs as my mouth approached her clit. As I flung away her panties, my mouth closed on her clit. I drew the bundle of nerves into my mouth, then circled it with my tongue. B.D. moaned and twitched. I lapped up her slit with my flat tongue ending with a swirled around her clit. I lapped and swirled again. B.D. writhed and moaned. Again. I sucked and lapped. More writhing and moaning. Again and again. B.D. dug her nails into my shoulders and bucked. One last time, she bucked and begged. “Please, David, Please.”

  I yanked off my boxers, rose up to my knees between B.D.’s legs and stroked my dick. “Open your eyes B.D.” She watched me stroke my dick a few times, then I covered her body with mine, pressing her into the mattress. I teased her opening with my dick and then plunged in seating myself completely with one long thrust. B.D. groaned. I pounded into her with deep, powerful strokes that got increasingly faster. I was too desperate to go slow. My breath grew frantic. B.D. shouted my name a few times, but devolved into moans and eventually screams.

  “Come. Bambi. Come.”

  And she did. B.D. became completely undone screaming and clutching even as her pussy milked my dick. I gave up trying to stave off my orgasm and for a few moments all that existed were our two bodies locked in passion. Too soon, my orgasm completed. B.D.’s pussy slowed to a few fluttering spasms. Our breathing became more regular. I rolled off B.D. and pulled the quilt over us. I tangled my legs in hers, wrapped my arm around her middle to pull her close, buried my face into the bend of her neck and shoulder, and sighed. Before I could think another thought, I was asleep.

  B.D.

  I didn’t think it was possible to fall asleep the second you relaxed but apparently I was wrong, because David fell asleep probably before his head hit the pillow. Seriously, a bag of rocks wouldn’t fall that fast. I listened to his gentle snores for a few minutes before following him to dreamland. I woke up a few hours later. The pink and purple of a sunset was just starting to streak the sky. I checked the clock—a little after 5pm. I wasn’t sure what time Candi would be home, but I figured I didn’t want her to find me wrapped around her naked son. Even though David had made it clear that Candi was cool with the idea that her son had sex—regularly—I decided to save myself some awkward embarrassment and get dressed. My bladder wouldn’t object to me getting up either. After I managed to find and don my clothing—somehow my bra had landed behind David’s computer monitor—I went searching for a bathroom. As in our house built at about the same time, the bathroom was at the end of the hall. Unlike our bath, this one was gorgeous. White subway lined the bath and served for wainscoting. The floor was covered in a marble hex. The vanity looked like a converted dresser with a marble counter top and sleek, chrome pulls. White, fluffy towels hung from the towel bars and a pink orchid stood out against all the white. It was the most beautiful bathroom I had ever been in. It was more beautiful than the designer baths in our big house. They were all granite and stucco and brown—heavy. This bathroom was elegant and refined despite being small. It smelled great too—salty, but vaguely floral. The effect was serene and calm—organized, but not regimented.

  Back in David’s room, I quietly perused his shelves. I
didn’t want to wake him up yet. He seemed so peaceful. Like the bathroom, his room looked pulled together without trying. It was done in a blue—primarily a navy color palette. He had a navy and white quilt on his bed—that took up almost the entire room. The walls were painted a dark blue, but the large windows that looked into the side yard and a fence kept the room from being dark. One entire wall of the room was covered in white cabinetry. I peeked in and realized it was an elaborate, custom closet system for David’s wardrobe. He had a sock drawer with dividers. His underwear was neatly folded in another drawer; another held swimsuits; another was designated for shorts. One big pull revealed hanging space with shirts, pants, and jackets organized by color. Across the room, a small vintage desk held David’s computer and some notes for the project he was working on. Above that shelves held classic books like part of Dune series, Tolkien, Heinlein, Asimov, and newer authors like Sanderson and Rothfuss. He also had a set of D&D dice, a pewter magician figurine, and an Apollo Seven model. I couldn’t help but smile. Beneath David’s fashionable clothes and swimmer body, beat the heart of a nerd. Maybe we do belong together. I turned around to watch him sleep for a few minutes. He was lying on his side with his hand tucked beneath his cheek. He was mostly covered by the quilt, but one muscular leg stuck out from the quilt all the way to his naked hip. He was so cute and sexy. I got a little weepy and aroused simultaneously and decided to explore some more of the house.

  I wandered down the hall to the living room that we had bolted through on our way in. Like the rest of the house, it was beautiful and designed, but cozy and functional too. Everything was done in a muted French country design—the kind of decor my mother tried to achieve, but lacked the skill and restraint to pull off. A cream, overstuffed couch faced the fireplace flanked by a wingback chair done in a muted chintz fabric. In the corner a painted armoire undoubtedly held the TV. The fireplace was limed brick and honey-colored wood. The oak mantel sported some artfully arranged vases and candlesticks in alabaster and silver and accented with dried flowers. Next to the fireplace a Chippendale secretary held some leather-bound books, keepsakes, and pictures in a variety of frames showed David ‘s metamorphosis from small boy to hunky young man. There was a school picture of David with a bowl haircut missing his front tooth and an obligatory high school graduation picture with him decked out in his high school robes with an honors stole flanked by Candi and an older woman. One of him in a Speedo holding up a trophy. A picture of him probably about age five sliding down a park slide into the arms of an older woman with big hair. The same woman was helping toddler David walk. He was wearing a sailor suit. In the corner, at the back of the shelf, in a large, ornate frame, I saw a picture of a much younger and stunningly beautiful Candi holding a baby version of David decked out in an elaborate christening gown. Standing next to Candi, with his arm wrapped around her and smiling down at David was an older man in a suit with eyes the same steely blue that David’s were.

  “B.D.?” queried David from the hallway.

  I stepped back and quickly turned toward David like I was guilty of something. “Here. I’m here. Just looking around,” I answered David who had padded into the living room in just his blue jeans.

  “Great, I was planning on giving you a tour such as it is, but we got side-tracked.”

  “You still can. I only made it to the living room, but when does your mother get home? Did you say you’d do something about dinner?”

  “She gets home about seven, so we have time.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel that said it was just after 6pm. “To just make dinner. I didn’t realize it was so late. I better hurry.” Then he ran back to the bedroom. Within a minute he flew back through the living room wearing huaraches and a pullover. He dug around in the laundry room behind the kitchen then ran back out and through the back door carrying a basket. “Come on,” he waved at me.

  I stepped through the back door onto to the patio that had a teak dining set and a grill with two large pecan trees, a fig, and a storage shed. I followed David across the deck into the garden—and I mean garden. Literally everything between the patio and the back fence was garden. On the left was a vegetable/flower garden surrounded in an old-fashioned wire fence. The right side was full of a roughly square raised limestone bed cut through the middle with a pebble path making four distinct beds. A bird bath sat in the middle at the junction of the paths and behind the raised beds was some kind of green, feathery plant. David opened the gate to the left garden and motioned me through.

  “Wow, this is some garden!”

  David snorted and shook his head. “Not really, you should have seen it when my grandmother was alive. All of these beds would have had something growing in them this time of year. Mom just plants what she likes and is easy to grow.”

  I looked more carefully and realized he was right. Over half the garden was covered in mulch. Still the other half had lettuces, chard, kale, brussel sprouts, and fennel. Some space also had flowers—I recognized the snow drops because my mother grew those, but the other blue, pink, and green flowers weren’t familiar to me.

  “If we have time, we’ll come back and pick a bouquet before dinner, but right now let’s go for some lettuce.”

  David took out scissors and cut handfuls of chartreuse and maroon lettuce leaves and put them in the basket. Then he walked out the gate to the raised beds and started cutting handfuls of some kind of feathery herb. “Dill will only grow in the winter here, but I love it, so I like to use a lot of it when it’s in season.” Then he walked to the wall of feathery green at the back of what I realized now was an herb garden. He started circling the green wall and occasionally squatting and cutting something with a knife. When he came back, I noticed he had several handfuls of pencil sized asparagus.

  “It’s a little early for asparagus, but these are big enough to cut, so I went for it.” He tromped back to the kitchen and started yanking things out of the pantry and fridge and lining them up on the counter. He turned to me and explained, “We’re having dilled salmon with rice, roasted asparagus, and a salad.”

  “Sounds great,” but I couldn’t help but stare at him a little stunned. “You cook?” I asked.

  “Of course. You don’t think I eat out for every meal, do you?” He put the lid on a pot of rice and turned on the burner.

  “No, I didn’t, but how did you learn to cook? And garden?”

  David chuckled. “I learned from my grandmother. She was a lunch lady at my school, so she would bring me home every day, and we would work in the garden until we stopped to start dinner. Here, as I’m sure you know, you can garden year around, so she always had something that needed weeding or digging or pruning. She also taught me a few things about cooking even as she was learning herself.”

  “She was just learning to cook? I thought she was a lunch lady?”

  “She was, and she knew how to cook southern i.e. fried food. My grandmother made great fried chicken and chicken fried steak and greens and mashed potatoes, yum.” David’s eyes briefly rolled skyward as he clearly was imagining eating his grandmother’s food. “Unfortunately, my mother didn’t much care for the fried food my grandmother liked to cook, so she had to learn how to cook “model style” as she put it.” He put his hand to the side of his mouth and adopted a conspiratorial tone, “my mother claims my grandmother’s cooking killed my grandfather, but I suspect his drinking and a big crane had more to do with it. Regardless, we always had lots of vegetables, and I learned to cook with Grandma.” He squirted the salmon with lemon juice and sprinkled it with salt and pepper. Then he began to snap the end off each asparagus stalk. I came over to help.

  “It’s like this.” He showed me how to bend the asparagus and then snap it off at the bend point. We snapped the asparagus companionably then drizzled olive oil and sprinkled salt and pepper on the asparagus on an aluminum foil baking sheet. Finally, he slathered the salmon with mayo, sprinkled it with chopped dill until the salmon looked like a green, furry animal, then he popped the
baking sheet in the oven.

  As I looked on, he washed the greens. I pumped the salad spinner while he squeezed lemon juice into a jar, drizzled twice as much olive oil in the jar, smashed a garlic clove and tossed it in, and threw in some salt, pepper, a dollop of mustard and a tiny bit of dill. He finished shaking the jar about the time I finished drying the greens.

  “We’ll put it together right before we eat. Let’s set the table.”

  In the dining room, David grabbed three pink toile place mats and three white plates to set the table. In a blue felt-lined drawer he pulled out three place settings of a silver flatware sporting intricate silver violets. I finished setting our places. He returned to the kitchen with a white platter, a white asparagus plate, and a couple of white bowls.

  “You always make such a nice dinner for your mom?”

  “When I’m home,” David replied. “She deserves it. Mom doesn’t have anyone to take care of her; she’s all alone. I’m happy to do it when I’m home. I wish I was around more, but I’ve got things to do. I wish she’d date or something. She has work friends, but no close, personal friends. Dad sucked up her time when she was young. I sucked up more time when I was young. Now she’s just left with herself. “ He emptied the rice into one of the serving bowls.

  “That’s too bad. Mom is having a hard enough time with life with Dad in prison but we know he’ll be home in two years. I’m not sure how Dad will adapt, but at least Mom won’t be alone.”

  “Mom enjoys her job and she likes the house,” he waved his arms around the house.

  “It’s a beautiful home.”