Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series

by Elizabeth J. Merrill

  “I guess even if she’s not happy, she’s content. Especially if I do well. It’s important to her that I succeed.” He sliced another lemon.

  “I can see that.”

  David checked the fish and pulled it out of the oven right as we heard the garage door open.

  He dumped the greens into the other serving bowl and transferring fish and asparagus to serving platters. Candi came out of the utility room looking fabulous if a little weary in her Burberry coat and red heels.

  “Hi, B.D.” she nodded at me. “What’s for dinner, David?”

  “Roasted salmon and asparagus with rice and salad.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Let me change. I’ll be just a minute.”

  “Everything should be ready when you are.” Candi went back to her room, and David finished putting the finishing touches on everything and then popped a chilled bottle of rose on the table. He arranged the serving platters on the table then filled three wine glasses with the rose.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I shook my head.

  “I’ll put out water too.” He then set the table with three etched water glasses, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of chilled Pellegrino.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Fancy,” I mocked as he filled my glass.

  He gestured for me to sit as Candi walked into the dining room still looking fabulous, but casual in a plain black sweater, jeans, and espadrilles. We sat down to dinner. Candi took in the table.

  “Everything looks and smells wonderful. Thanks for dinner,” Candi exclaimed appreciatively.

  We passed platters and chatted about Christmas decorations, the weather, and how early the daffodils were blooming—nothing really. Candi must have put on some music when she went to change, because Tchaikovsky played in the background. I ate the surprisingly good salmon and asparagus. I guess fresh is best. I looked around the dining room filled with delicate Chippendale furniture and decorated in soft, pink florals that set off Candi’s flawless complexion beautifully. I thought about our dining room filled with heavy, ubiquitous brown furniture and brown striped wallpaper. The heavy table was always covered in a ratty, cream table cloth. We never played beautiful music in the background, and Mom’s idea of creating a festive atmosphere was lighting two dusty, white tapers. I had once suggested that she get pretty wallpaper at least, but she said she didn’t think Dad would be comfortable eating surrounded by flowers. Only girls liked that. Apparently David was the exception. He looked quite content to eat pretty food in a pretty room while sipping rose. No wonder David liked things to look nice. He’d grown up surrounded by pretty things. That was his baseline. I wasn’t sure if I could maintain the standard set by his mother.

  David

  As B.D. sipped wine and chatted with my mom, she relaxed and settled in, while still seeming impressed—just what I was going for. Dinner worked out well, but with a basically fool-proof recipe and garden-fresh ingredients, I would have had to put effort into messing it up. After dinner, Mom invited B.D. to her bedroom where she passed off Christmas gifts for B.D. and Veronica and Dot as well as sample closet bounty. She had shown me the gifts before she wrapped them. Some of it was sample closet bounty. Mom had a selection of shoes and booties that had the shop-worn look of long-time sample closet inventory. And the random selection of sweaters were clearly last year’s colors, but the two cashmere sweaters and the Michael Kors blouse were obviously items selected with B.D. and her family in mind. Dot, in particular, would look great in the Michael Kors blouse. Mom had probably got them on sale and used her employee discount, but they definitely weren’t cast offs. B.D. tried to decline, but Mom wouldn’t have it.

  I took B.D. home—late—and sat in my car with her and kissed for half an hour before letting her go in. The smell of her on my hands and face, the taste of her lips, the feel of her soft hair helped me go right to sleep that night. Unfortunately I woke up at 3am and realized I wouldn’t be getting back to sleep without B.D. in my bed. I would just have to get used to sleeping without her soon, or experience life as an insomniac. I got to work on the gaming project. At this rate, I’d be done before the New Year.

  At noon, I took B.D. to lunch at Red Hot and Blue. I loved watching her smear barbecue sauce all over her face as she dove into a rib. B.D. never did anything half way even when it involved sticky sauces. Afterward, we returned to B.D.’s house where her mother had lined up a series of small tasks that she claimed she and B.D. were too short to do. They mostly involved ladders so that may have been true. I changed the HVAC air filter—the old one was filthy. I changed out a burned out light bulb in the foyer. I got a roasting pan down from the top shelf in the kitchen. And I screwed in some cabinet screws that had come loose. B.D. complained to her mom that she could have tightened the screws if she had noticed them, but I insisted to B.D. that I was happy to help. And I was. Maybe her family wouldn’t think I was quite such a bastard when I left if I was at least nice to them. After I finished the honey-do list, Dot claimed to have some errands to run clearly to give us alone time.

  B.D. wasted no time dragging me to her room and slamming me against her door.

  “She won’t be long, so we have to hurry. And I don’t know when Veronica will be home, so we need to be quiet,” she said in a stage whisper as she unbuttoned and unzipped as quickly as possible. Before I fully processed the situation B.D. was pushing me naked onto her bed so she could whip off my shoes and my pants that were already around my ankles.

  “Hey,” I protested as she my shoes hit the floor. “I’m naked and you’re still dressed.”

  As she tore my pants off she said with a smirk, “Only because you’re slow.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed as I yanked her down on top of me and then flipped us over so that I was on top. “Slow am I?” I asked as I ripped her sweater over her head and unhooked her bra with lightening efficiency. B.D. screamed and giggled then remembered herself.

  “Shush!” she whispered putting her fingers to her lips. “We need to be quiet….quiet.”

  Without prompting she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and I jumped up so that she could kick them off. I wrapped my arms around her body and flipped us again. “This is more like it,” I growled while staring into her eyes and down to the points where her breasts crushed against my chest. I kissed her and reached between our bodies and palmed her breast, massaging it then rolling her nipple between my fingers.

  She moaned.

  “Shhhhh….don’t forget. Quiet,” I admonished. She clamped her lips shut.

  I slid my hand between our bodies until I found the tight bundle of nerves at the V of her legs and circled it. She was already a little wet, but as I slowly built the pressure, gradually circling faster and harder, she started moaning between her clenched teeth. As the tension built the moaning got louder, but still muffled in her mouth so she sounded more like someone who was savoring the best bite of chocolate cake she’d ever had than someone about to climax. Then the begging started.

  “David,” she whispered. “Just do it. I need you inside me.” I applied a bit more pressure.

  “David,” she whispered more desperately. “Just fuck me. I’m ready. Don’t you want to get off?”

  I had to admit that all the quiet moaning and writhing had done their job. Although I wasn’t desperate, I was more than ready, but still in the mood for begging. “No, I’m good.”

  B.D. let out a frustrated groan. I ran my fingers through her wetness and swirled her clit.

  “Please, Please, David. I’m ready,” she pleaded.

  “Sex Lord,” I stated.

  “Whaaaat?!?” she slurred.

  “Sex Lord. Beg me and call me Sex Lord.”

  B.D. giggled. “Okay, Sex Lord. Please, please give it to me Sex Lord. You’re the GOAT.” She whispered, “The greatest of all time.”

  I continued to work her clit. “I know what GOAT means. And yes, I’m the GOAT.” I pushed two fingers inside her, rubbed her G-spot, and worked her clit with my thu
mb. B.D.’s moans took on a high-pitched almost siren-like quality. We had clearly passed the point of cogent verbalization. I pulled out my fingers. B.D.’s moan started to transition into a scream and then I plunged my dick inside her. Her moans dropped three octaves, but she started chanting my name like it was her mantra or something. I guess my name did sound better than sex lord.

  I continued to work her with deep, slow, deliberate thrusts. The slow pace was helping me last longer, but I wouldn’t last long. Just when my balls began to draw up, B.D. screamed like her life depended on it and came. Her pussy gripped mine with long, powerful spasms and pushed me over the edge. I closed my eyes and just felt her powerful spasms followed by the short, fluttery spasms at the end of her orgasm. I continued to spurt out what felt like my life essence and just as she sighed and relaxed, I finished. Then B.D. started shivering as she sometimes did after particularly intense sex. I rolled off her, pulled the blanket over us, and wrapped her tightly in my arms. She continued to shiver, but it lessened. I held her tighter. She stopped and seemed to turn to jello in my arms. Almost immediately a post-coital sleep fog descended on my brain. “So much for quiet sex,” I murmured.

  “What?” She answered going rigid in my arms again. I heard a door slam somewhere in the house. “Oh My God! Be quiet!”

  “Mmmmm,” I murmured as sleep took me under.

  B.D.

  I bolted out of bed and grabbed my clothes. So much for quiet sex is right; mind-blowing out-of-body experience sex was not quiet. I couldn’t help it though. When David had finally stopped teasing me and got down to work, I couldn’t help it when I got that creeping feeling across my scalp as endorphins flooded my brain and the fireworks started behind my eyelids. Something in my brain gave up, and it felt like my consciousness floated out of my body and looked down on us having sex. My orgasm slammed me back into my body, but I had never experienced weird, transcendental shit during sex before. David really is the GOAT. We can never break-up because all other sex will fall short.

  I stuck my head out to make sure the coast was clear before bolting across the hall to the bathroom. I got cleaned up and dressed then walked out to the living room to find Veronica watching some reality show on TV. Whew, at least it was Veronica.

  “So where’s David?” she asked.

  “What, how do you know he’s here?” I replied in a voice that sounded paranoid even to me.

  “His car’s out front.”

  “Oh, right. He’s taking a nap. Mom really worked him out.”

  Veronica got a perturbed look on her face. “He sure does sleep a lot.”

  “He’s working on a project for a gaming company. They want it in early January, so he’s trying to work on it everyday. He usually works on it at night and then he gets wrapped up in it and works until late at night, and then only sleeps a few hours before meeting up with me. By the afternoon he’s shot, so he takes a nap. Then at night he works some more, but he’s getting close to done.”

  “Did he bring something from the sample closet?”

  “His purpose in life is not to supply you with free foot wear,” I shot back.

  “Oh really, but it is to upgrade your look. You used to look like a thrift store reject. Now you look like Tim Gunn dresses you.”

  “I’ll have you know that I picked this out,” I waved my hands up and down over my outfit. I had on a short, fluffy barely-pink sweater, skinny jeans, and some low-heeled fawn colored booties.

  “Whatever.” She looked around. “Mom’s not back yet?”

  “No, she went to the store for dinner.”

  “I know,” Veronica answered back. “She wanted to make something special for Da-vid.” She stretched out his name.

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Yes, she did,” Veronica nodded in a heckling way.

  “What did she say exactly?” I asked.

  “She said that she wanted to make something special for David, and she wanted to try this recipe she found on the Internet, but she needed pomegranate molasses, sumac, and olives for it. She went to Central Market to get them.”

  “Do you think she’ll believe that David died, so he can’t come to dinner?”

  “Nope,” Veronica said with finality.

  I sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

  I glanced back at my bedroom door where David slept unaware of the fate that awaited him and shook my head.

  *

  The next day, Christmas Eve, David suggested I come over for breakfast, so I walked over around 8 am with his gift—the Mont Blanc pen—wrapped and stuffed in my purse. I knocked on the door and David opened it and immediately turned back to the kitchen. I heard a timer beeping. I followed David into the kitchen where he was taking honest-to-God blueberry muffins out of the oven. He was wearing a white chef’s apron over his pullover and jeans. He looked adorable.

  “Wow! You made muffins?!?” I chortled.

  “They’re easy,” he slapped my hand as I reached for one. “They need to cool a little before we take them out or they’ll fall apart. Want some juice?” he asked gesturing at a pitcher of cranberry juice.

  “Sure.” He grabbed a juice glass and filled it. I noticed a frittata on the stove. I gestured towards it. “That breakfast?”

  “Yep, you want a slice while we wait for the muffins to cool?”

  “Sure.” He used a pie knife to lever out a slice and carefully placed it onto one of the plates laid out on the counter. He levered out another piece then got a container out of the fridge and fanned out three thin slices of honey dew melon onto each plate. Then he put two strawberries at the top of the melons. Most restaurants didn’t plate their food so beautifully. We sat down at the table in the breakfast nook and looked out over their beautiful backyard garden. A small vase with three small white roses decorated the table.

  “The weather’s got my mother’s rose bush confused so it bloomed. I brought in the best blossoms so that we could enjoy them inside.”

  “I see. Sorry about last night,” I offered.

  “What? Oh? It’s fine. I know your mother was trying her best. I didn’t know people had trouble making rice.”

  “Oh yeah, I don’t think my mother has ever successfully made rice despite hundreds of tries—especially rice with herbs or spices like saffron. Her rice is always burned or sticky or undercooked with hard nibs in the middle—like last night.”

  “What were those little burgundy blobs on the chicken?”

  “Sumac—it’s the new “it” spice. She didn’t get it incorporated into the glaze properly.”

  “And how did she manage to achieve both a bitter/burned flavor and a sickly sweet flavor in one dish like that?”

  “Too much molasses and burning it. That burned flavor is really the flavor of my childhood. In fact, I think part of the reason my father was so motivated to leave academia was so he could afford to eat out more—it was the only way for him to get edible food,” I joked.

  David smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I took a bite of the frittata. “This is delicious.”

  “Mom grew the swiss chard and onions in her garden.”

  “It’s great.”

  “Thanks.”

  I took a bite of melon—cold and sweet; it was the perfect counterpoint to the hot and savory frittata.

  We ate in silence staring out at the garden. I felt a wave of warm air and turned around to see a fire in the mini-fireplace in the wall. “You’ve got a fireplace in your kitchen!” I yelled.

  David snickered, “Technically it’s a pizza oven, but I’m going to make bread in it later. I’m just getting coals going now.”

  “How cool! Do you make pizza in it?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly in the winter. It’s too big a strain on the air conditioner in summer, but this time of year when it’s not too hot out, it’s great. “

  I pushed my plate around to sit next to David and watch the fire. After a few minutes he hopped up, “We can eat those muffins now.”

  He broug
ht back two muffins and a butter dish. We each split our muffin and slathered it with butter that immediately melted on the warm muffin. The blueberries were soft, warm, and gooey. The muffin sweet and light. I couldn’t help it, I moaned.

  “It’s not that good.”

  “It is. I don’t think I’ve ever had a muffin warm from the oven like this. It’s so good.”

  “I’ve got a present for you,” David announced. “Do you want it now, because I’m guessing you’ll be busy all day tomorrow.”

  “Yes, and I’ve got a present for you.” I retrieved his present from my purse and he disappeared into his bedroom. He returned with two boxes wrapped in identical paper and tied together with a gorgeous, green bow.

  “Here, open yours first.”

  “Okay,” I replied and began carefully sliding out the top box. I unwrapped it and inside found a pair of beautiful, simple, small gold hoop earrings.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said.

  “They go with the other gift. I thought you needed some gold jewelry. It will look great with your skin. The pearls look great too, but I thought you needed a different look.”

  I gasped when I opened the second box. It held a square, emerald pendant on a gold chain. “The green will bring out your eyes. Let me help you put it on.”

  He led me to the hall bathroom and took the necklace out of the box. He gently put it around my neck, and I held it up so that he could fasten it. I looked at it peeking out from between the white collar of my shirt. It was gorgeous. And David was right. The emerald brought out my eyes.

  “It’s stunning, but it’s too much. How can you afford this?” I asked even as I petted the emerald.

  “First, it’s not too much. It’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do. And I can afford it. Programming for gamers pays pretty well, in other words, as much as tutoring does in an entire semester. And Mom helped me pick it out from one of the resellers she knows, so it wasn’t that much.”

  “Still, I feel self-conscious wearing it.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” he replied nonchalantly.

  I stared into David’s eyes in the mirror then turned to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around me and deepened the kiss then I remembered David’s gift.