Parallel Life

Parallel Life

I was all too aware of David’s desire for me. I didn’t want to think about it. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t desire him anymore, and hadn’t for nearly a year. I just wanted to think about Justin, touching myself and finally drifting off to sleep. So when David found my breast under my nightshirt and started rolling my nipple between his too-familiar fingers, I finally decided to put an end to the pretense–at least for that night. I’d always let him have his way before. I was tired of it.

“Not tonight, David. I’m sorry.”

David looked like I’d punched him.

“That’s the first time you ever said no.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Just not tonight.”

“The old headache routine? Or is something bothering you? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. It’s nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

David stared at me with wounded brown eyes, then sighed, shrugged and rolled over, his back facing me. He smelled good. I still loved him. I just didn’t want to have sex with him.

I wanted to have sex with Justin.

I was obsessed with Justin. I’d met him at work about a year earlier. He was nearly a decade younger than me (I was 35), and an incompatible zodiac sign (I was Aquarius; he was a Scorpio), but I didn’t care. We liked different kinds of music (I loved classical, bluegrass, and classic rock; he loved alternative and hip hop); I adored reading but he hated it. Justin had very short medium brown hair and a little fuzz–not quite a goatee–on his chin. He wore an earring and had the most buttery looking tan I’d ever seen. He always wore loose, soft looking khakis that seemed to caress the bulge between his thighs that in my fantasies was not only huge but permanently erect. He was tall–I’d say at least 6'2"–and had long graceful hands that I imagined could send me into spasms of ecstasy if he’d only give me a chance. .

But he’d never given me a chance. In fact, he barely spoke to me, unless it was some work-related question. Sometimes I thought he didn’t even like me very much. I was probably right about that.

Still, I preferred to make excuses for his apparent lack of interest.

He really did desire me but was too shy.

He was secretly in love with me but thought I was too old for him.

He knew I was married with an 8-year old daughter and didn’t want to be a home-wrecker (this possibility just made me want him more–a man with a conscience).

He was gay (though I knew he wasn’t).

He had decided to joint the priesthood and had taken a vow of chastity (yeah, right. Besides, he was Methodist–I’d heard him tell someone that).

He was waiting for the perfect romantic moment to spill his true feelings for me. (Please.)

You get the idea.

If I hadn’t been deluding myself, I’d have realized Justin was simply not interested in me. He’d dated plenty of other women, including a few we worked with. I died a thousand deaths whenever one of those women told me Justin had asked her out. But I’d just smile and act sweet and professional and say “how nice” in my mildest voice. Inside, I’d be wanting to strangle the little bitch. Of course I never did. Those women were my friends. What sort of evil creature was I to be jealous when I already had a handsome and successful husband who loved me, a summer cottage on a bucolic lake in the Catskills, and a beautiful, intelligent daughter?

No, no, no. I didn’t love Justin. I wasn’t even in love with him. I barely knew him. I was just sexually attracted, that’s all. Women approaching their forties were notoriously horny, weren’t they? Love had nothing to do with it.

Then why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Why couldn’t I stop pretending David was Justin whenever we made love? Why did I find myself fantasizing about what Justin’s and my children might look like if we had any? Why did I find myself writing imaginary wedding invitations in my head late at night after David had long been asleep?

I had to stop this. David loved me, and I loved him. Our daughter Kelsey was happy and got straight A’s at school. If I’d never met Justin and hadn’t become so stupidly obsessed, I’d still be enjoying my sex life with David. Besides, the first blush of romance can’t last forever, can it? Eventually a couple either breaks up, or the infatuation involves into something deeper and longer lasting, even if the excitement is gone. David was the most generous, caring person I knew, and always seemed interested in hearing about my day, even now. I felt terribly guilty for having these sexual thoughts about another man , even though I hadn’t actually cheated on him.

I felt cold, so I edged up to David so my back was against his. He felt warm and safe, but I felt no desire whatsoever. Sighing, I closed my eyes and after a few minutes I left this world...

The alarm startled me. I hopped out of bed, glancing over at David’s side. He wasn’t there. He must have already left for work. That was strange. I was always up earlier than him.

I went to our tiny galley kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I sat down at the little table and picked up a copy of the Times. I opened it to a random page and found myself staring at a full page ad for a sale at Bloomingdales. Something wasn’t right. The name was spelled wrong. Bloomingtons. Huh? I sipped my coffee and looked at it again, thinking I must not have seen it right. But the error was really there. I worked in advertising, and nothing like this would ever have been missed. What sort of incompetent editors would let this error get by? I pushed the paper aside, sighing.

It was time to get Kelsey up for school. I went back down the hall to where she slept, and opened her door.

Her room was empty. In fact, there was no evidence she had ever been there at all. In place of her flouncy canopy bed, stuffed animals, school and athletic awards, and lavender-and-turquoise color scheme was a jumble of old furniture, framed pictures, and boxes of books I thought we’d sold at the flea market last summer. The walls were the boring and depressing beige they had been before Kelsey was born. The aqua carpet was gone; the floor was bare hardwood.

What was going on? Stupefied, I gulped my coffee and nearly choked on it. I had forgotten all about work. Where the hell was Kelsey?

Suddenly I had the alien sensation of another mind taking over my own, erasing my memories, inserting new ones. Only the mind didn’t feel alien at all. It felt like...waking up. Kelsey? Who the hell was that? I must have dreamt about having a daughter. I didn’t have a child. David didn’t want kids, had never really liked them much. Oh, yes, of course, we were planning to take all this crap to the flea market in two weeks. I went back to the kitchen to put my coffee cup in the dishwasher. I glanced at the paper on the table again. Bloomington’s. Yes, I had to stop there this week and buy a new winter coat and some shoes.

I put the can of Folsom’s Coffee back inside the freezer of our Kelvinator refrigerator. Kelvinator? Didn’t they go out of business long ago? That fleeting thought disappeared and was replaced by a sudden jolt of excitement. I’d nearly forgotten--I was meeting Justin today after work. I had to remember to wear my sexiest black lingerie under my jeans and top (Justin loved black on me). We’d started seeing each other when one rainy night after work, after too many Rhinegold Lite beers, I’d wound up sobbing into his flannel shirt after confessing to him how cold David had been acting toward me lately. In fact, I’d suspected David was seeing another woman (I’d smelled feminine perfume on his clothing and he was often late getting home), but I didn’t feel so bad about that now that Justin was in my life. He’d held me that night and made love to me tenderly. I believed he was falling for me, just as I was falling for him.

Last week I’d found out I’d been right about David. He had a girlfriend–a willowy 23 year old student of his–and had confessed he was in love with her and was planning to leave me. I’d wasted nine years of my life. All I had to show for them was a few extra pounds, the beginnings of lines around my eyes, and a lot of old books and furniture collected during happier times that now had to be sold. Soon I’d be too old to have children. David was leaving so if I was ever going to have a baby, I’d have to find someone else pretty soon. Justin seemed like a possibility. I didn’t care about the age difference. Maybe he was ready.

I wouldn’t really miss David, just what we’d had once. Or had seemed to have.

But I was fortunate: I had a good job, and didn’t need David’s income. We had no children to worry about supporting.

And I was loved by a younger man.

I was enjoying work more now that Justin was there. All day we’d steal glances at each other while trying to maintain a professional demeanor. When we passed each other we’d surreptitiously graze hands or even–once–he’d cupped his hand under my butt. I’d go over expense reports and storyboards with my boss and coworkers while feeling the warm wetness gathering between my legs that Justin’s sultry gazes and palpable sexuality had induced. It was a delicious game–trying to feign interest in such mundane things as a new ad campaign for Gerber frozen foods (once a baby food manufacturer) or Commodore laptop computers, while secretly pressing my thighs together, trying to stanch the electricity that pulsed through my nether regions–or better yet, giving myself a quiet orgasm in the sterile corporate atmosphere of a conference room while balding middle aged men and sexless women in business suits spoke animatedly about Chef Boy R Dee dog food.

Justin had admitted to me he felt the same excitement, the same sense of doing something forbidden. We had told no one about our affair, not so much because I was still a married woman, but because it was simply that much more exciting to keep it secret. Part of me wanted to joyously shout to the world how much in love we were, but I suspected that doing so might somehow dilute the effect we had on each other in some inexplicable way. So I kept my mouth shut.

After work we held hands like teenagers and ran to the corner to catch a taxi. Giggling, not caring how silly we might appear, we hopped in the first green cab that pulled up to the curb. A surly-looking black woman with shopping bags glared at us as she slid out of the cab, the hugest one hitting my hip as she stalked past, but her mood just made us giggle more.

She mumbled something profane when she thought we were out of earshot, and Justin and I just clutched each other and played footsie. I began to become moist again.

Justin told the cabbie our destination downtown and then we kissed, our hungry tongues searching and probing as the scenery whizzed by. Near 34^th street, we stopped kissing to look at the remaining wreckage from the September 11^th attack on the Empire State Building. Many of the skyscrapers in the immediate area had also been destroyed, including Macy’s department store and all of Herald Square.

A moment of sadness passed over me and Justin squeezed my hand. I knew he felt it too.

“Have a nice day,” the cabbie said as he pulled up to the entrance of an Italian restaurant in the Village.

“You too,” I said. I meant it, too.

A gaggle of kids wearing Day-Glo vinyl clothing passed by us.

“I much prefer the hippie look of the ‘80s,” Justin said. I knew what he meant. It was much more natural looking than what kids wore now. Maybe I was just getting old.

“Yeah, well, maybe so, but do you really want Dukakis as president again?”

I had to admit Gore was much better. Bush had almost won the election, but a recount of the Florida ballots had been ordered by the Supreme Court, and Gore had got in. I remember how much my jaw had ached after he won; I’d been unconsciously clenching it during the whole recount debacle. I tried to imagine what sort of horrors Bush would have wreaked on the country had he won, and found the thought too depressing. He would have got us into another war, for sure.

Justin and I sat at a tiny table in a darkened corner, as candlelight lapped at his features. Our hands inched across the table, and I threaded my fingers between his. My knees pressed against his under the table. He caught my ankle with one foot and wrapped his around it. I felt my nipples strain against my thin top. While we barely spoke, whole conversations passed between. There was no need for words. We didn’t even see our waiter coming with our food.

After eating as if we were starving (I couldn’t remember a meal ever tasting that good), we fed each other dessert–a enormous double chocolate mousse with whipped cream.

Justin’s pointed tongue slithered over the spoon I held to his full lips, and lapped delicately at the whipped cream, like a kitten. His sea-green eyes twinkled in the candlelight, and I noticed he had dimples. Was he really that beautiful, or was it just the candlelight? At the moment I didn’t care.

I sucked the dark brown fluff off the spoon he held out to me, then ran my tongue slowly across my slightly pouted lips, tasting the sweetness on my lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Beth,” Justin said. His voice turned my womb into mush, and I felt another warm gush between my thighs. I pressed my legs together to savor the feeling, and his own legs caught my ankles and held them together like a vise. We were already making love.

“Let’s get out of here, Beth.”

The waiter came by just then, as if reading our thoughts. Sometimes it seemed as if the whole world knew how we felt. It was a strangely liberating feeling, as if everything on the planet had accommodated itself to our growing feelings.

“Check, please.”

“Right away, sir.”

I giggled. It was hard to think of Justin as a “sir.” He was so young and fresh, almost innocent, his sexuality so natural it seemed almost unconscious.

“Is something funny?” Justin’s eyes twinkled like stars in the burnished orange glow of the candlelight.

“Him calling you sir.”

Justin looked puzzled. “Why is that funny?”

I was taken aback. I hoped I hadn’t offended him.

“I don’t know. Just...”

“Just what?”

“Oh, nothing really. I always think of a sir as some stuffed shirt British type, or an overbearing father. You’re so young and innocent.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Innocent in what way?”

The waiter came with his check and Justin handed over his credit card. I offered to leave the tip in cash.

The waiter hurried off to take the order of a family with several children who had just sat down at another table.

I squeezed Justin’s hand and pondered his innocence. Justin looked at me with the question lingering on his features.

“Well, it’s hard to explain,” I finally said. “Your sexuality is so unconscious, so natural to you. You don’t try too hard. I really like that.”

Justin was silent for a moment, thinking. “I don’t try, it’s just how I am. I’ve always been a sex fiend.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant and you know it.”

His eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up like roofs. “I’m not a sex fiend?”

“You’re not any kind of fiend. You’re just very naturally in touch with your sexual nature.”

“I’m a Scorpio.”

“Very sexual sign.”

“Yes.”

“Prove it to me then.”

Justin gave me a look of mock disappointment, like a child told to clean his room.

“Do I have to?”

But his eyes twinkled more than ever, and his dimples deepened, so I knew this was exactly what he wanted.

“Yes, you have to.”

Justin smiled openly and laughed.

“You’re asking for trouble, sweet Bethie.”

“I look for trouble. It’s my adventurous, Aquarian nature.”

The waiter came back with Justin’s credit card. I fished in my purse and neatly stacked several bills on the table next to the small vase of dahlias.

“I love your adventurous nature.”

I smiled at him. “I know.”

He wedged one hard knee between my knees, and I squeezed it as hard as I could. He held both hands in mine.

“You’re very special, Beth. I’m so glad I got to know you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn’t remember David ever being so romantic or attentive, although I am sure he had been, way back in another lifetime, long before the baggage marriage always burdens a relationship with, an thousand years before Tracie entered his life.

I wasn’t sure if what I felt now was really love, or just intense infatuation, but overcome with overpowering emotions I blurted the first thing that came to my mind.

“I love you, Justin.”

That was my first mistake, only I didn’t know it yet.

He looked away from me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

He helped me out of my seat and even draped my cardigan over my shoulders (so chivalrous for a 25 year old), and we hurried out of the restaurant only to discover it was pouring out. He flagged down one of the green cabs almost right away, an awesome feat for a rainy Friday night in New York.

“76^th Street and Broadway, please.”

His place. Even the sound of his address had taken on the aura of romance and sensuality. Everything about Justin turned me on. Everything he liked I adored. Everything about him became enchanted, from the shape of his ear to his taste in music to the sound of his last name, even something so trivial as his birthdate and the town he’d been born in (West Orange, New Jersey). I tried to remember if I’d ever felt that way about David. I probably had, once, but Justin had eclipsed it all. He rocked my world. Talk about obsession.

In the taxi, Justin seemed a little subdued. He kept his arm around my shoulder protectively but did not try to kiss me. I almost mentioned this to him, but sensed it would be best not to. We barely spoke all the way back to his walkup apartment on the West side. But his strong warm fingers began to caress the line of my jaw, and I felt myself relaxing. It was late; he must be tired. I wanted him so badly; I hoped he wasn’t too tired to make love.

He wasn’t.

I felt feverish as we entered his apartment, which smelled vaguely like a motel. He opened a small soapstone box where he kept his stash, extracted a small glass pipe, and offered me the first toke. I inhaled the sweet smoke directly into my lungs, only to be capsized by a coughing fit.

“Easy. Suck slowly.” Justin rubbed my back.

“I know,” I managed to choke between coughs. I felt embarrassed. I hope he didn’t think this was the first time I’d ever gotten high.

But soon I began to feel relaxed and warm inside. My worried fled and my heat came back.

“You okay, Beth?”

“Never been better.” I grinned wickedly at him. His shirt was unbuttoned, and I slid it off past his shoulders until it fell to the couch. His body was smooth and strong. A marble sculpture of male perfection, like Michaelangelo’s David. Only a fine line of light brown hair adorned his chest. I ran a finger over one of his surprisingly puffy, sensitive looking nipples. Justin growled and pulled me to my feet. His enormous erection strained against his loose trousers. My hands trembled like sparrows as I fumbled at his fly. His pants slid down his strong tanned legs, revealing loose boxers in some sort of paisley print.

“Bethie, you asked for trouble.”

“I live for trouble.”

“Good, because I’m about to whisk you away to my bed and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

I preferred that he make love to me rather than fuck me, but I was so hot and sopping now that either one would do.

“Tell me.” His hands, hot and strong, were wrapped around my waist now, sliding toward the curve of my ass, and his thigh was wedging itself between my legs, forcing them apart. “Tell me how much you want me, Beth.”

“I want you, Justin.”

“What else do you want, Beth?”

“I want you to fuck me, Justin.”

“Good.”

He picked me up as if I weighed no more than a child and took me to his bed, a king-size affair that looked out of place in the tiny denlike room that surrounded it. He laid me down gently, and removed my top. I helped him take my bra off, and it slid off my breasts and I tossed it on the hardwood floor.

He removed his boxers, revealing a long, dusky penis curved slightly to the left, with the widest shaft I’d ever seen. It was unbelievably beautiful, but also scared me a little. I’d never had anything like that inside of me. His balls didn’t dangle in that silly way most men’s do, but were tight, well contained in almost a single unit, forming a shape that reminded me of a heart. A throbbing, naked heart. I guess he must have read my look of apprehension.

“Do I frighten you?”

“No,” I lied.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be very gentle.”

I allowed him to remove my black panties. I was shy about my wetness (and felt slightly guilty about cheating on David, even though he had Tracie now and we were getting divorced anyway), but soon my desire overcame my timidity, and I allowed him to spread my thighs with his arms. He slid his hands under my ass cheeks and lifted me slightly off the bed, so my pelvis protruded toward him. He lowered his beautiful well shaped brown head to my swollen lips, and lapped at the nectar that was now streaming from my cunt.

He lifted his head and looked up at me, his eyes glazed over with passion, his lips glistening from my juices.

I wanted to tell him I loved him again.

Justin lowered his head again and resumed sucking my pussy. “So sweet, so warm,” he murmured as he lapped at me like a hungry kitten.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

No, he was. My nipples stood up like bullets.

I arched my pelvis up as my juices flowed faster, but then Justin suddenly sat upright, straddling my hips inside his own, and then pressed his thighs together tightly so I could no longer open my legs. He leaned down and cupped my breasts in his hands, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs.

“You want me,” he breathed.

“Yes.” The desire was turning into an ache. I needed him inside me. I tried to rub my thighs together to relieve the heat.

He pressed his thighs together even tighter, making even that movement next to impossible.

“Not yet,” he said, covering my lips with his. His tongue flicked my lips and found my tongue, then searched the inner reaches of my mouth. I could hardly breathe but even so I wrapped my arms around his strong back, pulling him even tighter. I flexed my feet like a ballet dancer’s, and dug my toes into the sheets.

“I need you–“ I gasped when our mouths separated for a moment.

“I know.”

I could feel my juices oozing out between my tightly pressed thighs, dribbling down my ass crack, soaking into the cool sheets now made hot by my desire. Justin let go of my breast and slid his hand between my thighs, slid his fingers into my opening, then removed his hand, lifting it so I could see my wetness glistening like dew on his fingertips, then watch as it trickled down the shafts of his fingers. His smoldering green gaze held mine as he raised his hand to his mouth and licked off my juices. He balanced himself on his other arm, the muscles in his beautiful strong arms straining to support him. He still had my legs in the vise of his grip, and I tried to open them, tried to resist the power he had over me, both physically and emotionally. I could see his gorgeous cock, dark purple now, pointed straight toward me, the veins throbbing within its long shaft. I could see a drop of pre-come gather on the throbbing head. I knew he was just about at the point of no return himself.

“Not yet,” he whispered, and leaned to kiss me again. He moved his hands to my jawline, and held my face tenderly as his lips met mine. His thumbs caressed my earlobes. I surrendered to him. He was completely in control of my body now, and the feeling was delicious. I melted.

“You are so soft, so delicate.”

Normally a remark like this would have insulted me, but in my state of total surrender to the almost unbearable yet awesome feelings he awakened in my body, the remark was the ultimate compliment. I had never felt so feminine or beautiful.

“Delicate and soft, yes, you’re like a flower, your petals open to catch my pollen.”

“Yes,” was all I could say.

I couldn’t bear any more of this. If he didn’t enter me soon, I would come. I could feel his erection pulsing against the soft skin of my belly, rounded now with my desire.

“Now. Please.” I felt close to tears.

Justin held a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Be patient.”

His control amazed me.

He cupped my breasts in his hands, and slid downwards to draw a swollen nipple into his mouth, then moved to the other. In the process, he had freed my legs, and I pulled my knees up and wrapped my soaked thighs around his hips.

“Now,” he murmured, and lifted himself so just the tip of his penis touched my swollen pussy lips. I tried to guide him inside me with my free hand, but he grasped it, making me wait.

By now I was writhing and arching toward him like a cat in heat, attempting to absorb him inside me. Each time he would pull away so only the tip was inside me. The walls of my vagina throbbed almost painfully, needing him.

Then he pulled out completely, making me cry out in frustration. Tears squeezed out the corners of my tightly shut eyes.

“Shhh, shhh, baby, it’s okay.”

Suddenly he plunged into me and I thought I would explode. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw starbursts and prisms. Instead of pulling out right away, he stayed inside me, and I could feel my pussy walls mold themselves to take on the exact contours of his huge penis. He twitched his shaft inside me, tried to push even deeper inside me, until his head was pressed against my cervix.

I involuntarily shuddered and rocked my pelvis upward. I lifted my thighs so they circled his waist, and my feet now resting on his smooth white ass, my toes dug into the fleshy cheeks.

“You’re incredible, Beth.”

I could not speak, so I just gazed at him. He pulled out, then plunged inside me again, throbbing deeply inside me for a few moments before he pulled out.

“Justin...”

“Beth...” He pulled out again, then slammed inside me.

He gazed at me so intensely he looked almost angry.

I was going to come. No man had ever made me come before without some sort of manual stimulation.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, and his voice sounded trembly.

He slammed inside me again and held himself there, his body shuddering and pouring perspiration onto my feverish skin. I felt a welling up inside, and then an explosion that began in my crotch, then radiated like lightning throughout my pelvis, up my spine to my head, and down my legs to my toes. My body stiffened against his as I came, one spasm seguing into the next. He collapsed into my arms and we laid there, spent and soaking wet, not caring about the wet sheets beneath us or the fluids that were smeared over our legs and genitals.

“I love you,” I said.

“Don’t,” he said.

Shit. What a dumb thing to say. Why do men freak out so much over that word?

Justin rolled over and fell asleep, one arm draped lazily across my breasts. I didn’t sleep for a long time. I just felt sad and ashamed. I’d just had the most unbelievable sex of my life, but I still wasn’t happy. Why did I always end up sabotaging everything?

Justin didn’t love me. I realized with a start I didn’t really love him either. He might be a nice person, a friend even, but we weren’t right for each other. He was ten years younger than me, not ready to be in a committed relationship; we had completely different goals and interests. I hardly knew him. Intense sexual attraction had once again disguised itself as love.

I thought about David, thought about what we’d had once. What had I done to sabotage my relationship with him, to drive him away? Why did he want Tracie instead of me? Where had we gone wrong? I’d never really stopped loving him.

Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to have David back. But he was gone, and I was alone.

I woke up, aware of Justin snoring next to me. The room was still dark. I fumbled around looking for my clothes in the dark, so I could get out of here, go back to my own apartment, back to my lonely life, back to my husband who no longer loved me. There were many things to take care of. The divorce. The flea market. My job. Splitting up whatever meager assets David and I had accumulated over the years. Just the same, guilt over what I’d done with Justin slammed into me like a tidal wave, and I almost collapsed. I held onto the bed for support, and realized the room was becoming lighter. A grayish glow now permeated the walls, illuminated the sheets on the pillows, the white lampshade, Justin’s face.

Only it wasn’t Justin’s face at all. I looked closer. The hair was too long, the nose a different shape. The jaw was too narrow to be Justin’s. I recognized the long fingers, the square nails just slightly too long, in need of a clipping. I recognized the dark cowlicks that framed David’s handsome face.

His long lashes rested against his cheeks, like a little boy’s.

I leaned down on the floor and just watched him sleep. I loved him. I’d never stopped loving him.

I went down the hall and brewed a pot of Folger’s coffee and sat down at the table waiting for it to finish brewing. I glanced at the Bloomingdale’s ad the Times was still turned to, and made a mental note to shop for new coat this week, depending on the amount of my paycheck.

Behind the nearest door, I heard Kelsey sighing in her sleep, her voice like a breeze. Vaguely I recalled something about a flea market, and realized it must have been a dream.

I brought two cups of steaming coffee back to the bedroom on a metal tray.

I sat back down on the floor and waited, sipping my coffee.

David opened his brown eyes, slightly crusted with sleep, and smiled at me.

Sleepily, he reached out his hand toward me and I took his in my free one. He had such beautiful arms, even nicer than Justin’s. Justin seemed like a distant memory, a crush I’d had in high school.

“I love you, Beth,” he said.

“I love you too, David. I never realized how much.”

“I want to make another baby with you.”

“You do?” I did.

“Yes. Come back to bed. It’s Saturday.”

I set my coffee on the end table, went to check on Kelsey, and climbed under the cool dry sheets. I felt his warmth, smelled his male smell. I wanted him.

Somewhere at the edges of my consciousness, I heard Kelsey go to the kitchen to make herself some cereal and pour some juice, then went into the living room to watch cartoons. She’d be fine for a while. She was a big girl and if she really needed me, she knew where to find me.

So David and I made love tenderly a number of times, and then drifted to sleep, his body curled tenderly against mine, spooning me. At some point, in a state of semi-wakefulness, he entered me from behind, sliding in easily. I was still wet from our earlier lovemaking. He stayed inside me for a long time after we came, and when we finally decided to get out of bed, a long and delicate strand of clear fluid (his? mine? both?) still connected us as we pulled apart. It glittered like the strand of a spiderweb after it rains, reflecting the early afternoon sunshine that now poured in through the window. I may have been ovulating.

Finally, we showered together and dressed for an early dinner.

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