Monthly Archives: April 2015

TRIXIE–3

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“There’s something different about you,” Trixie observed, setting down her latte to take inventory of her sister.  “And I don’t just mean the cute little dress.”
.        “I don’t have to wear my habit everywhere I go,” Madeleine said.
.        “No, but the last time I saw you you were wearing a turtleneck and wool pants.”
.        “The last time you saw me dressed like that was Christmas.”
.        “Still.  Isn’t that dress a little . . . scandalous?”
.        “Scandalous?”  Madeleine looked down, assessing herself in the relatively modest yet colorful v-necked flower-patterned dress.  “It’s completely appropriate for spring.”
.        Trixie laughed.  “Yes, it is.  I was referring to you and your spiteful wardrobe.  If you hang this in your closet with the rest of your clothing don’t be surprised to find it stoned to death.”
.        Madeleine laughed, taking her sister’s criticism in stride.  “Oh, stop now.  It’s just a dress.”
.        At first Trixie had just been teasing, but now witnessing her sister’s blush and the uncomfortable shifting of her body in her seat, she wondered if there was more behind the choice of the dress than just celebrating springtime.  With recent developments concerning her own reasons for feeling extra pretty at today’s bookstore outing to meet her sister, if she didn’t know better, Trixie would swear there was a man behind Maddy’s disposition.  Considering her own scandalous behavior, Trixie thought it prudent to avoid that area of conversation.  Not that she wasn’t just bursting to tell someone about her new hot young lover, but telling Maddy would have felt more like confession than conversation.  Sex was a topic best dished with Maggy.  Besides, her daughter was working the cafe today, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about getting screwed up against a wall by a nineteen-year-old with Mercy in such close proximity.
.       The sisters chatted a bit, mainly about Mercy, and their sister Maggy off on her honeymoon in Bermuda.  Both agreed Carlson was a wonderful, as well as extremely good-looking man, and perfectly suited for their jet-setting, fabulous Mary Grace.
.        “I hope he makes her happier than her last husband,” Madeleine said.
.        “Yes.  It seems we Tarminsson women aren’t very lucky in love.  Well, present company excluded.”
.        Madeleine widened her eyes, a strange look coming over her face.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”
.        “Well you’re married to God, for Pete’s sake.  That’s a lot for the rest of us to live up to.  I mean, I’m sure He provides His moments of disappointment, but at least you know He’s always got your back.”
.        “Right.”  Madeleine looked down at the table, her expression troubled.
.        “Okay, Mads,” Trixie said, setting down her latte mug with purpose.  “All joking aside; what’s going on?”
.        Madeleine shook her head, avoiding making direct eye contact with her sister.  Still Trixie noticed the tears brimming in her eyes.  Now she was growing concerned.
.        “My God, Mads, what is it?”
.        “I can’t,” she whispered, still shaking her head.
.        “Can’t?  I would say we’ve reached the realm of ‘have to.'”
.        “It’s bad, Beatrice, it’s bad.”
.        The worst thing Trixie could think of was murder.  She doubted Madeleine was capable of that.  So she went with the number two worst transgression of a nun’s existence.
.        “Did you sleep with someone?”
.        Although she didn’t think this a possibility either, judging from the guilty look on Madeleine’s face, apparently she’d hit the nail on the head.  Or at least dented the wall next to it.
.        “No,” Madeleine said.  Then, with more conviction, “No.  But there is someone in whom I’ve taken interest.”
.        “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Maddy, stop talking like a school teacher.  This is serious.”  She arched an eyebrow as if to ask for confirmation.  Madeleine nodded.
.        “Yes.  I fear it is.”
.        She took her sister’s hand across the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  Wrong as it may be, inside she was grateful for the news.  A nun breaking her vows was far more scandalous than a forty-year-old divorcee sleeping with her teenaged neighbor.  Wasn’t it?
.        “It’s serious enough that I’ve been thinking about leaving the convent.”
.        Trixie sat back in her chair, digesting the information.  “What?  How?  I mean, when did you meet this guy?  When?  Where?”
.        Suddenly a thought occurred to her.  Madeleine had said she was contemplating leaving the convent for someone.  Had she fallen for one of her fellow sisters?
.        “It is a man we’re talking about here, isn’t it?”
.        Madeleine giggled.  “Yes.  A wonderful man.”  She sighed.  “Oh, Beatrice, I don’t know how this could have happened to me.  That’s what makes it feel so right.  I know God would never have put these feelings in me, would never have made this man cross my path if it wasn’t meant for a very important reason.”
.        “Maybe it’s just about resisting temptation.  God’s big on that testing thing, you know.”
.        “It goes beyond that.  It’s not just about being tested.  I know what that feels like.  This is strong, Bea.  It’s a deeper feeling.  In here.”  She lightly pounded a fist to her abdomen.  “And in here.”  Gentle placing of her hands over her heart.
.        Trixie softened.  She rose from her seat, rubbing her sister’s back.  “I’m going to grab us some chocolate chip cookies.  How many do you think I’ll need?”
.        “A dozen.”
.        “Their cookies are large,” Trixie reminded her.  “Triple the size of a regular cookie.”
.        “Right.”
.        They both waited a beat before declaring simultaneously, “Two dozen.”

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Sometimes Trixie wondered how it happened that Madeleine and Mary Grace had been born the twins and not she and Madeleine.  Not in the sense that they were so much alike, but in the vein that they were in tune with each other, understood each other, much more so than were the actual twins.  Maggy and Maddy were complete opposites.  Mary Grace was materialistic and flashy, aloof and egocentric.  Madeleine was sensitive, compassionate.  She was soft-spoken and nurturing, inquisitive and analytical.  Trixie could sit and talk with her for hours, on a wide range of topics.  Whenever Trixie and Mary Grace met for lunch, the topic of conversation was almost always Mary Grace, unless she wanted her sister to join in on criticizing someone.  Then the conversation revolved around those unfortunate souls, those not as pretty or savvy or deserving as Mary Grace, who was just waiting for the karma train to come thundering in and run over all of them.  As if Mary Grace hadn’t done it already.
.        “God knew exactly what He was doing when He made you my big sister,” Maddy once said to her during one of Trixie’s I-should-have-been-your-twin-instead rants.  “You comfort me, offer advice, look after me.  Maggy needs that, too, more than I.  Who else could guide us through life the way that you do?”
.         She didn’t feel much like a leader now, however.  How in the world was she supposed to offer advice to a nun seeking her approval to exit the Church?
.        “You divorced your husband,” Madeleine had pointed out during their lunch at the bookstore.  “It’s the same thing.  How did you know the choice was the right one?”
.        “As I recall, you were very much against that choice,” Trixie gently reminded her.
.        “I wasn’t,” Madeleine said.  “My teachings were.  My beliefs, my vows.  That’s the problem with religious faith.  It thinks for you.  Once you choose a life of service, it becomes you.  You are your faith, and you act accordingly.  It’s amazing how a belief system based on free will removes all traces of it from your life the moment you sign up.  ‘What would Jesus do?’ is so much easier to answer than, “What would I do?  What should I do?”  I envy your ability to make choices by yourself, for yourself.  I want to make them now.  Follow my heart.  I know what the Church would tell me to do, and I’ve done it.  Pray.  Ask God for guidance.  Be strong, and honor my vows.  And I have.  And now I believe He’s led me to this choice.  Now I’m asking for your opinion.  Your true guidance.  What would you do, in my shoes?”
.        “So now you’re swapping what would Jesus do for what would Trixie do?”
.        “That’s not fair.  I’m not trading your judgment over the Church’s.  I’m simply asking your advice.  As a sister.  As someone who loves me and wants me to be happy.”
.        Trixie relented with a heavy sigh.  “I think you know what I would do, honey.  I am divorced.  But our situations are different, completely different.  I mean, are you leaving the Church for this man?  Or because the lifestyle doesn’t suit you anymore?  What I’m asking is, if not for this man, would you still want to leave the Church?”
.        “I think I can honestly say, if not for this man, I would not be contemplating leaving the Church.”
.        Trixie nodded.  “I see.”
.        This information troubled her.  In listening to Madeleine’s story of how she’d come to meet Adam Drechsler and how her feelings had developed and grown stronger over time, Trixie couldn’t see one logical reason for her sister’s leaving a party for him, let alone years of service to God.  By her own account she barely even knew this man.  How could a year’s worth of lunches and conversations centered around characters in books qualify as a relationship?  Trixie knew these were the times of people getting engaged who had met over the Internet, but it all seemed so ridiculous to her.  Made her scandalous sexual dalliances with Brody seem normal and quite acceptable in comparison.  And she thought she was the one living in a fantasy world!  But Maddy had been looking for advice, and although the best advice Trixie could think to give was to abandon this foolish notion of ever having anything with Adam, her sister deserved better.  How would she feel if she came looking for advice and Maddy would shoot back at her that she should leave her neighbor alone to find someone her own age?  Advice is never about the obvious; by its very nature it’s the right thing to do.  People looking for advice are never looking for the right thing to do.  They’re looking for permission to do the wrong thing.  And although Trixie certainly couldn’t bring herself to grant that permission, she wasn’t such a hypocrite that she couldn’t straddle the line.
.        So, even though she wasn’t totally convicted in her words, she’d advised her sister to get a handle on where Adam was in all of this, what his feelings may be for her before she uprooted her entire life.
.        “But that’s the problem,” Madeleine had said.  “How can I pursue a man, try to draw him out and be honest with his feelings, while I’m still a nun?  He won’t think of me as a potential life mate unless he can think of me as a potential life mate.  Do you understand that?  I mean, do you get that?”
.        Indeed, Trixie did.  Although she always thought Brody was a cute kid, she’d seen him more as someone Mercy would date than she would.  It wasn’t until he let her know he was available to her that she began to seriously consider him as someone she might be interested in.  Same with his father.  For years she’d been attracted to Ricky, but hadn’t engaged in any kind of serious flirtation due to both their marriages.  Now she was divorced, but he was still with his wife.  Her relationship with his son notwithstanding, she could never think of him as a potential mate while he was still involved with someone else.  In that sense, she could understand Maddy’s wanting to leave the Church before revealing her feelings to Adam.
.        “Well then, my true advice, since he is the reason you may leave the Church, protect yourself.  Your heart.  Go slow.  Maybe guide your conversations to more personal areas.  Find out his background, if he’s ever been in love.  You don’t even know whether he has a girlfriend, or his eye on someone.  He has a whole life outside your Thursday afternoons.  Maybe suggest a lunch together outside the convent.  Hopefully he’ll say yes and you can grow from there.”
.        “What if he says no?”
.        Madeleine had looked so fragile, like even the thought of entertaining that possibility would be enough to shatter her completely.  Trixie had given her a reassuring smile.
.        “Now why would he say that?”
.        Trixie left the bookstore, and her sister, feeling as if she hadn’t helped at all.  Giving her sister, a nun, advice on men?  That was way out of her league.  This was definitely one for Mary Grace to decipher.  She’d set up a dinner date for the three of them once their sister returned from Bermuda.
.        As Trixie slowly made her way down the street toward her house, watching for children riding bikes or rollerblading, unleashed dogs darting out from between parked cars, her mind drifted to Brody and the visit he’d paid her last night.  Mercy was away, house-sitting for Mary Grace, and Trixie had had no second thoughts of leading Brody upstairs to her bedroom after opening her door at two in the morning and finding him on her front patio.  Once again he was fresh from a night out with his friends and more than ready to enjoy the benefits of a warm female body.  He was hard in seconds and they’d barely made it to the bed when he was out of his jeans and inside her.  He spread apart her legs, pressing her knees back and up so far they practically rested on either side of her head, pulled aside the crotch of her underwear and slipped right in.  After a few hard fast jabs that penetrated so deep she practically felt them touch her abdominal wall he was pulling out, collapsing beside her with a loud sigh.
.        “God, that was so hot.”
.        She couldn’t disagree, but it could have lasted at least long enough for her to try for an orgasm.  She was about to roll on top of him to make a go at achieving just that, but he sprang from her bed, quickly pulling his jeans back on.
.        “Some other bed you have to visit tonight?” she asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
.        “Naw,” he said, completely missing it.  He zipped up.  “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.  Otherwise I’d stay and fuck your hair back to its natural color.”
.        Then he’d leaned over and kissed her so sensually, so lustfully that she almost reached the very orgasm she felt robbed of just seconds earlier.
.        “I don’t think you should wear underwear anymore.  You know; just in case I need to pop in quickly.”
.        He kissed the tip of her nose and was gone, leaving her to finish herself off with the vibrator she kept in the top drawer of her nightstand, imagining it was his dick beating against her clit instead of a silver bullet.
.        The appearance of his father coming down the lawn to his mailbox shook her from her erotic memories.  Was it five o’clock already?  She’d had no idea her lunch with Maddy had lasted so long.  But of course it had.  The digital display on her dashboard read 5:01.  Trixie could, and sometimes did, set her clock to Ricky’s daily excursions down to his mailbox.  Unless it was a Sunday or a holiday, unless he was away or gravely ill, at five o’clock without fail, Broderick was collecting the mail from his mailbox.
.        It had been about four years ago when she first caught on to the pattern.  That had been back when her marriage to Tony was starting to come apart and she began to notice not only Broderick’s comings and goings, but how handsome he was.  An older, more confident and accomplished version of his son, Broderick Daniels was the kind of man Trixie had always dreamed she’d end up with.
.        And now I’m fucking his son.
.        Funny how things turned out.

 

MERCY–4

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The week Mercy spent at her aunt’s house with Keene was the best of her entire life.  Just like newlyweds Maggy and Carlson, Mercy felt as if she and Keene were on their own little honeymoon of sorts, spending every moment in their own little bubble, getting to know each other better mentally, spiritually and physically.  Especially physically.  It seemed there wasn’t a room or surface in the house they hadn’t fucked in or on.  They did it every morning when they woke up, every night before falling asleep.  They did it in the shower, on the kitchen table, on the couch, on a dresser, on a bench press, on the floor, against doors and walls.  Much of the time Mercy was raw and sore and swollen, but she didn’t care.  She’d meet Keene back at the house at the end of their workdays and fuck him the moment one or the other of them stepped over the threshold.
.        They had been two days into their stay when she officially lost her virginity.  Up until then it had been a lot of rubbing, petting, licking and sucking.  When she would grab for his dick, beg for him to put it inside her, Keene would tell her to enjoy this time of extended foreplay.
.        “Once a man has sex, he always wants it,” he told her.  “There’s no going back.  That’s the goal, the end result behind every hand-hold and kiss on the lips.  ‘How long do I have to do this until I get to the fucking?’  That’s all we care about.”
.        So that fist night on the third floor, snuggled on the massive sectional couch by the window that she turned into a bed, they worked themselves into a sideways sixty-nine, like two Pisces fish flowing in opposite currents of ecstasy.  With Keene’s face buried deep in her barely legal muff, she swallowed his cock as if she were sucking her way to her own orgasm.  Their motions synchronized, their energies connected, with each glide of her lips on his shaft, Mercy felt her clitty popping, spasming with deliciousness.  She pulled her head up, sliding her mouth all the way to the cap, administering quick pulses before taking him in whole once again.  When she heard him mutter, “Aw, fuck,” against her cunt, she knew she was hitting the spot.  Soon her mouth was collecting his juice, stray drops of love jism dribbling down her chin.  He used his thumbs to spread her pussy lips wider, his tongue bearing down on her clit in thick, fat laps.  She came, panting, squeezing her thighs around his head.
.        Mercy had off on Sunday and Keene took a break from his writing, so they took their time rising for the day.  She awoke first and stared at his face in the soft filtered sunlight coming through the window blinds.  There were no distinguishing features.  His was a common face, pleasant, with blue eyes and proportionately-sized nose and lips.  His front teeth were slightly overlapped, the bottoms a little crooked, which lent character to his smile.  She supposed he could be considered attractive, maybe even a little handsome, depending on your preference.  To her he was absolutely adorable.  And, for the week at least, all hers.
.        Eventually she slid her hand beneath the covers and lightly stroked his penis.  She tickled it with her nails, running them across the slit at the top, along the wrinkled pouch at the bottom.  He stretched, opening one eye, smiling.
.        “What are you doing?”
.        She moved in closer, pulling the covers out of the way so that her naked body pressed against his, her hand still caressing his penis.
.        “I want you to get hard so you can fuck me,” she whispered, kissing his chin.
.        “On an empty stomach?”  The one eye closed and he bowed his head towards her, resting on her head.  “That feels really good,” he murmured.
.        “Not as good as I need it to feel,” she said.  “Want me to suck it?”
.        That seemed to do the trick.  Soon he was erect and she slid down his body, taking him into her mouth.  She brought him to orgasm, swallowed, then they both left the couch and made their way into the master bath.  They brushed their teeth side by side, Keene coming to stand behind her after rinsing.  He pressed against her ass, running his dick along the crack.  She spit out the toothpaste into the basin, watching him through the mirror as he brought the tip down further, the head pressing slightly into her slit.  She sucked in her stomach as his one hand came around to cup her pubic area.  He slid his middle finger over her clit, stroking it.  She pressed her ass against him, wiggling her gash on his cock head.
.        “If you’re not careful, I’m going to bend you right over this sink,” he practically growled.
.        “Mmmm,” she said, licking her lips seductively.  “Do it.  Shove your cock right up into my box.”
.        He chuckled, bending her over slightly.  Her breath caught, thinking he was going to do it, but instead he nestled his dick within her lips, rasping it back and forth over her gash and against her sex bud.  Her opening ached, yawning and seeping, her clit plumping and pulsing with each glide.  She came, clutching the counter, arching her back and rocking against him, pressing her clitty down onto his fat slick prick.
.        When her orgasm subsided, he twirled her around to face him, pressing his lips on hers in a hot, devouring kiss.  He stood between her legs and she wrapped them around his hips, bringing her pussy against his dick, slightly at attention.  She humped at him and he pulled away, resting his head on her shoulder.
.        “Not yet,” he said against her skin.  He raised his head, looking into her eyes.  “I want to take my time with you.  Not hard and fast on a bathroom sink.”
.        “But I want you so bad,” she said, her eyes searching his, pleading.  “It hurts.  It hurts so bad with wanting you.”
.        He kissed her softly.  “Let’s get something to eat, huh?”
.        She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt like crying.  Her eyes welled up and she tried to turn her head away from him, but he saw.
.        “Hey,” he said, taking her face in his hands, kissing her cheeks.  He brushed away the stray tears with his thumbs.  “We have time, right?  There’s no need to rush.”
.        She nodded, placing her hands on his wrists.  The emotion was too much for her, her desire for him overflowing.  It was no longer just a mental thing, a love addiction.  Now it was a body craving, a physical needing to replenish something key that was missing, much like blood or oxygen.  Without him she felt weak, anemic, unable to breathe.  His cock was a needle containing medicine and she needed to be injected, and fast.

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After a breakfast of waffles with fresh strawberries and bananas, which they ate on the back deck overlooking the yard and pool, they returned to the master bathroom.  Mercy set about securing them towels and washcloths while Keene filled the tub.  When the water level was sufficiently high and the temperature a soothing but not scalding hot, they both eased their way in, Keene sitting against the wall across from the spigot, Mercy between his legs, resting back against his chest.  She closed her eyes as he dripped a saturated warm wash cloth over her breasts.
.        “Can I start reading your book today?” she asked.
.        “I’ll email it to you,” he said.  “You can read it on your iPad.”
.        “I’ll have it finished by the end of the week.”
.        He was silent for a moment, dipping the wash cloth into the water, then carefully squeezing out the excess water over her head, wetting her hair.
.        “When’s she coming back?”
.        “Friday.”
.        She wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking, that soon their time together would be over.  Or was he thinking they could move the party somewhere else, like to his place?  Of all the things they discussed, curiously she’d never probed into his living situation.  She assumed he lived not far from The Novel Cafe, alone, in an apartment.  She never really offered up much information about where she lived, either.  But that was because she lived at home, with her mother.  Was there a reason why he never mentioned his place?  Was there someone he shared his home with that he didn’t wan’t to talk about, too?
.        After a few more minutes of relaxation, they took their time soaping up the rags and washing each other.  Mercy joked that his hair soaked up more shampoo than hers, and required more conditioner.  They stood and rinsed off, kissing and touching, Mercy feeling as if she were standing under a waterfall in Fiji rather than a shower head in her aunt’s bathroom in Malvern.
.        They dried off and dressed in comfortable clothing and settled in the third floor parlor, Keene in front of one of the televisions flipping through a variety of sports channels while she curled up on the opposite end of the couch and began reading the novel he’d sent her.  She was about fifty pages in when he nudged her, asked if she was hungry.  She admitted she was, and they donned shoes and jackets and ventured out into the late afternoon.  It was sunny with a light breeze, and they drove to a local bar and grille in Keene’s silver Mercury Mariner with the windows rolled down.  Mercy leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, enjoying the sun and wind on her face.  At the restaurant, over burgers, fries and onion rings, they talked of art and travel, hopes for their respective futures.  She reserved her judgment of his manuscript until she’d read the entire thing.  But so far–no surprise–she loved it.
.        “I’d almost rather read it than make love.”
.        That comment earned her two raised eyebrows and she giggled.  “I said almost.  There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I’d rather do tonight than be naked with you inside me.”
.        He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar as if it were stifling him, and she laughed.
.        “Other than that,” he said, taking one of her onion rings, “what do you want to do with your life?”
.        “Other than that?”  She pretended to ponder this long and deeply, then shrugged.  “I’ve got nothing.”
.        He smiled, and she continued, “But really, I’ve got no immediate future aspirations other than being happy,” Mercy said.  “I have no clue about what all that entails, but I’m on a pretty good path right now.”  She nudged his leg with hers under the table and he smiled.
.        “There’s a difference between happiness and happy.”
.        “Yes, philosopher?  Enlighten me.”
.        “Happy is a feeling. Happiness is a state of being.  You can feel happy while living in complete misery.  An ice cream cone can make you happy.  Happiness is what you fall back on when you’re not feeling particularly happy.”
.        “Tell that to my Aunt Maggy.”
.        He knit his brows and she removed a French fry from his plate, biting off the tip.  She pointed the remainder at him.  “That’s why her husband left her.  He said he wasn’t happy.”
.        “That’s what you want, huh? To chase an elusive string of happy?  If your uncle had true happiness, he wouldn’t’ve felt the need to search outside his marriage for a feeling that comes and goes depending on external forces.”
.        She thought about this a moment. She knew they were playing word games in which–considering he was a writer–she was sorely outmatched. But she didn’t want to come away looking completely overpowered.  She had to prove a worthy opponent, even if there was no way she could win.
.        “Maybe temporary happiness is all some people will ever have.  Better to chase something you can catch, even if you know you will lose it over and over again, than to stand there constantly empty-handed.  As Fiona Apple says, “Full is not heavy as empty.””
.        “Fiona Apple?” He looked amused.  “What do you know of Fiona Apple?”
.        “My mom loves her.  She played her discs all the time when I was little.  Tidal, and When The Pawn. . . .  Fiona Apple and No Doubt.  My aunt Maggy looks just like Gwen Stefani.  She’s gorgeous.”
.        “And her husband still left her, huh?”
.        “Yeah, well, she found a replacement real fast.  And my Uncle Carlson is, like, gorgeous.  I’m sure her new mate is a lot better than what Uncle Wyatt is currently shacking up with.”
.        “Quoting Fiona Apple, with a body like Scarlett Johansson.  No wonder I find you irresistible.”
.        She perked up, sitting up straighter in her chair.  “You find me irresistible?”
.        He nodded, taking another bite of his burger.  “Mm-hmm.”
.        When they got back to Maggy’s he showed her just how irresistible she was, first with his hands, then his mouth, and finally, his body.  They stripped completely naked, lying on the mountain of comforters covering the massive sectional on the third floor.  He slid atop her, nudging her thighs apart by situating his hips between them.  Taking his penis in his right hand, he used it as he would a sex toy, massaging her clitoris in circular motion with the tip, running it along the interior of her lips.  She lifted her hips off the couch, rising to meet him, tilting her pelvis to intensify the sensation of skin on skin.  Their parts were slick and demanding, the trail of juices in their wake smooth and warm, and she felt her orgasm down to the tips of her curling almost to the point of a Charley Horse toes.
.        He paused a moment to roll on a condom, and her heart quickened, realizing this was it.  He was finally going to fuck her.  She almost came again from the mere thought of it.
.        He climbed back on, nestling the head of his penis just inside her gash.  He used his hand to move it around gently, opening her walls.  He pushed forward and she felt a pressure borderlining on pain.  She sucked in her belly, letting out a short, “Ooh!”
.        He knew she was a virgin, and he took his time with her.  He’d already had a finger or three up there during their fuck-fest of a weekend, and although she’d been inserting tampons for the past five years and had been to the gynecologist twice, no gentleness on his part or feminine hygiene practices could have prepared her for Keene’s hungry fat cock.  When he finally pushed past her resistant muscles, it felt as if she’d been stabbed in the crotch.  Like someone had branded her box with a hot poker.
.        And she supposed he had.  No woman ever forgot her first lover, his taking of her innocence breaking the ground on which every subsequent partner would try to stake claim.  But part of her would forever belong to Keene now.
.        Tears formed beneath her closed lids as he pumped in and out.  Every so often he would lift, glide a few strokes over her clit before plunging back in, and the sensation was a delicious tingle followed by a less delicious string of searing jabs.  He clamped his lips over one of her nipples, saturating the tip with his tongue.  She moaned, releasing the grip she had on the blankets to clutch instead at his head of unruly, sweaty curls.  She felt so alive, so sexually charged she wanted to cry out, “Fuck me!  Fuck me!” but feared it would incite him to go harder.  There would be time for that.  There would be a time when she would relish the pounding, think there was no way he could get deep enough, but for now she would brace herself and take the slams like a champ.
.        His thrusts began coming quicker, more forceful, and she wedged her hands between them, palms up, as if that could lessen the impact.  She felt the coarseness of his pubic hair scratchy on her waxed-to-a-landing-strip pussy.  He came, his prick a jackhammer shattering her to pieces, and she cried out from both the overwhelming pain and pleasure of it all.  His motions slowing, ceasing, he kissed every part of her face, telling her how wonderful her body felt to him.  She was reminded of the word he’d used earlier that evening, irresistible.  When he landed on her mouth, their tongues mingling, she murmured into his lips–involuntarily, practically compelled–“I love you.”
.        When they fell asleep moments later, bodies entwined, he still hadn’t said it back.
.        Nor had he said it by Thursday evening, after multiple lovemaking sessions, when they packed their belongings and left Maggy’s house for good.