by Lucian Bane
Cheryl had been correct about the voting. He’d not forgotten about the family rule to jointly decide all weighty decisions, but he’d not deemed his death voteable. In logical fairness, at the time Ben had decided to accept his death, there had been no other alternatives.
Now… there was the optional head transplant.
The smell of Cheryl cooking his favorite meal reached him right as his thoughts turned to comparing deaths. One by his current bad head, and death by head transplant gone wrong. Both held morbid variables. The bad head death had a long list of possible scenarios, many of which Ben didn’t even want to imagine. He guessed a similar list existed—maybe worse—for the head transplant gone wrong.
His options were simple but sinister. Jump from cliff A and die while not certain how exactly, when, or how quickly. The second option--jump from cliff B and possibly survive. Or die by scientific experimentation mishap which could potentially be more horrifying than any other scenario he’d imagined.
The logical answer was cliff B. The cliff that had a possible favorable outcome.
Ben had researched from his laptop in the hospital all about his current disease, learning what range of damage to expect as it progressed. He was currently awaiting the loss of motor-skills as his cerebellum sustained damage. It would likely also affect his ability to pay attention and speak. The occipital part of the brain was after, which meant he could lose vision, perception and short-term memory. But depending on the direction the disease travelled, it could bore to the inner brain and reach the pons. If that happened, he could lose the ability to control his breathing, and that meant lights out shortly thereafter. The main concern with that was it could be intermittent. Which meant having random bouts of uncontrollable suffocation.
It’s the thing that spurred him to make one of the biggest decisions he’d ever made in his life. One he would not allow his wife or son to partake in. Yes, it went against his religion but his directive to protect the innocent—his family in this case—took precedence over killing himself. Which is exactly what he’d planned to do before it got to that.
Only now, his carefully laid plans were scattered with a new set of circumstances. But really, cliff B was close enough to cliff A. Should the situation warrant it, he could still employ the emergency self-check-out protocol.
He picked up the small bell that Cheryl gave him and wagged till it ding-a-linged loudly. He listened, not chancing any head movement after that last debilitating bout of pain he’d incurred from laying down.
Hurried footsteps drew closer and the door opened with Cheryl hurrying to his side.
“I want to have a family meeting,” he said to her.
“Okay…now?”
“I think now is a good time.”
“Okay,” she whispered. He turned enough to see her face, right as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. The smell of her perfume seeped into him, making him want her close. Always. He allowed himself just enough movement, so her lips connected to his. Ever since he’d teased her about forgetting to kiss him, he craved more of what she’d given. They weren’t big on kissing before but…now, with the circumstances…
Her fingers stroked his cheek, reminding him he was in desperate need of a shave. She pulled back an inch and he swallowed, already mourning the absence of her soft kisses. But then she moved back in. This time her lips pressed a little firmer, testing.
He forced his mouth to relax, realizing he may not even know how to kiss. Her light breath hit him as she nipped, barely tugging his lips with hers while her fingers continued to stroke his face, the barest glide of her nails engaging.
The sensation sent a chill through him and he barely whispered her name, bringing more of her lips pressing into his. God, she felt amazing. Tasted…like a forgotten heaven. His breath rushed out when her hand covered his cock, filling him with shock and heat.
“Oh Ben,” she whispered, her breath burning his mouth as her tongue darted between his lips. The delicate, daring act awoke a deep hunger in him.
“Cheryl,” he finally blasted as she worked her hand in his pants and strangled his cock in her fist.
“Let me,” she whispered, stroking him. “Unless it hurts you,” she said, gasping when his tongue met hers on the second pass. The delicate moan she gave made the sensation electrifying. He opened for more, his mouth, his legs. Yes, he was hurting, but not enough for him to care or stop. Not enough for him to deny her this.
His breaths filled with strained grunts and she ate them up with sounds of approval until he was dizzy.
“You like this, baby?” She used two hands now, bringing harsher grunts to his breaths. “Oh baby, you need this, it feels good?”
She labored wet fingers over the sensitive ridge and the heat, God the heat. He wanted to tell her yes, it felt good, it felt unbelievable good. He wanted to touch her. Feel her but…where? She was clothed. “Oh…God,” he choked, closing his eyes and covering her hand with his. He followed her vigorous jerks, squeezing her hand harder. “Come for me, Ben. Right now.”
Her boiling demand was so unlike her, so unlike anything he’d heard. It brought a brutal orgasm and two seconds in, a dagger of agony split the back of his skull and locked onto his muscles. For a brief second, he wondered if Cheryl might mistake his sudden prison of torture for ecstasy. He guessed his eyeballs rolling into his head helped differentiate. He didn’t think it would’ve made a difference if she’d finished him off, the pain was so consuming, he doubted no pleasure existed in the world that could cancel it out.
By the time the torture began to subside, he became aware of his seething growls. He fought not to resist the pain. It made it worse. But relaxing through it required nothing short of a miracle.
“I’m so sorry!”
Cheryl’s face was in his lap and the memory of what she’d just done made him want to fill his bucket list with non-stop sex with her. She’d never done that to him. Yes, she’d touched him, but…not with the light on, not like that.
His heart hammered his chest at remembering how desperate she’d been for him to touch her all this time. His being suddenly felt crippled with the need to do it now.
“I’m not sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes still closed as he found her head and stroked it. “If I had to choose a way to die, that would be it.”
She was suddenly on his mouth again, kissing so very carefully. “I’m sorry I stopped making love to you, Ben.”
“Get Charlie,” he whispered, still shaking. “We’ll have our meeting.”
“Are you sure you can? Would you like to eat first?”
“No, I would like to finalize this.”
Both her hands stroked adoringly along his face.
“I need to shave,” he croaked, not liking that he didn’t look his best for her.
“I love you like this.”
“A wild bear?”
“Ben,” she whispered, pecking lightly on his lips. “You’re my wild bear.”
“Forever,” he promised.
She smiled, her eyes twinkling in a way he’d not seen in years. “I’ll get Charlie.”
Ben watched her leave, closing his eyes and steadying his shaky breaths. He had those pain meds. He could probably use them so that...he could maybe…do something with her. All he knew was he needed to touch her like she needed him to. He wasn’t willing to die for it but only because he needed to live so he could.
He let out a sharp breath at the sudden notion of possibly living and not dying.
But…nothing was remotely certain. No guarantees. Hardly. What could he do for her? She could…make herself feel good on him.
Doubts and fears clouded his mind as he realized he didn’t know things. Because he’d not really had to. They’d made love when she prompted. In the dark. They’d gotten very good at the routine he thought, and she really liked it.
He went still. Did he misread that too? Was his performance possibly not pleasurable? Satisfying? If it wasn’t, she’d lied to him. Not outright wit
h words but with…sounds of pure rapture. Those sounds she made said she loved it.
He should take the lead now. He could. How hard could it be?
The thought of doing it wrong smashed his courage. Especially when he considered what he knew or didn't. He never thought he needed to know anything because…their sex life was amazing. He thought. Until she stopped because of female issues.
But she hadn’t. She’d lied about that.
The idea that she’d lied about everything with their sex life was becoming a real possibility. A nauseating one.
As soon as they voted, he’d have to ask her. As much as he hated to. He had to know.
****
“Did you see Charlie’s face?” Cheryl smiled, a giggle of joy escaping her as she took a careful seat next to Ben on the bed.
The smile he gave warmed her whole being. It reached his beautiful eyes. “I did. He’s happy.”
“Later, I’ll message Dr. Vindel, and we can get everything started.” She lowered her gaze over him. “I checked on the hospital bed. It should be in this Friday.” She winced, feeling so bad about that. “I should have done that sooner.” She didn’t tell him she had to sell her ring and didn’t think it would help him to know.
“The pillows will be fine,” he said.
She realized he was staring at her but in a different way than normal. She lowered her gaze, not used to those looks from him while her heart skidded all over. What was he thinking? Maybe remembering what she did to him thirty minutes ago. He’d started to come, then the devil’s disease interrupted.
She chanced a look at him, the idea that she couldn’t’ make him feel good, crushing her. She wanted to give him pleasure non-stop to make up for all lost time. Wasted on her foolishness.
“I want…to make you feel good.”
Her lips parted with a gasp of surprise at his words while her heart jackhammered. She stared, caught in his blue gaze that burned with things she’d never seen before. “You…you can’t…”
“But you can,” he whispered.
She could? What did he mean? She could what? Did he want her to…masturbate? Surely not, they didn't even believe in that.
“What…do you want me to do?”
“I want to touch you. The way…you want me to.”
Her breaths turned erratic at the idea. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Can you…show me what…or tell me?”
Her mind filled with an array of scenarios, none of them very practical in the moment with his condition. “Do you want me…to right now?”
“Yes.”
The urgency in his tone reminded her of the end of them and how quickly they careened toward it. She darted a glance at the door. “I should…lock it.” She looked back to him. “The door.”
“Yes.”
His gentle confidence should have soothed her, comforted her. Aroused her even. But as she went to the door and locked it, she could only feel sick about everything. That he would want to make her feel good. Would want to do anything at all for her while he was in this condition, after knowing she’d deliberately…
“Cheryl.”
She hurried back to the bed, standing at the foot of it. What if whatever they did hurt him more? Made his disease speed up somehow?
“Tell me what you’ve always wanted from me.”
She tried with all her might to look at him but didn’t make it past his chest. Her words were trapped in her head. She opened her mouth, praying all her stupid desires would just come and speak for themselves.
“Take your time. You don’t need to hurry.”
His gentleness burned her down to her soul. Without her self-created lie about him, she had nothing to block her view of his pure love and devotion to her. He’d always been this and she’d…not even gotten to enjoy it because of the lie she believed about him.
“Why are you crying, honey?” he whispered, sounding tormented.
“Because…I’m…I’m stupid, that’s why,” she gasped, wiping her face.
“I’m so sorry.”
She snapped her gaze to him, angry and bitter. “Why? Why should you be sorry for anything? I’m the one who did this to myself, not you.”
“I should have seen this,” he said, without a doubt.
“No Ben, I should have been honest. I should have said something besides lies.”
“What would you have told me?” he asked.
He was giving her a do over. She nodded, seeing his angle, understanding it even. He was so clever. What would she have told him? Her shoulders raised as she came up empty. She presented clueless brows to him next. “I have no idea. I seem to only know how to lie when it doesn’t serve a good purpose. You know,” she laughed dryly, wiping her tears. “I’m a sadistic bitch.” She shook her head, realizing it. “Of all the times I should’ve lied, now would’ve been the right time. But no,” she quipped, fighting back sobs. “Here you are dying, and I have to go and break your heart too, oh my God, I’m Satan,” she strained, letting go of the sobs and covering her face.
Silence stretched until she felt like a criminal on trial. Guilty before a righteous judge. A hard-working husband, caring father, doting husband to a wife he thought had female issues and went out of his way to make her feel loved even though he couldn’t have sex with her
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
Sudden dread speared her stomach. She could only nod. Looking at him was too hard.
“Did you enjoy sex with me…when we had sex?”
“Oh God,” she whispered, gasping in horror that she’d let the words slip out. Why that question? She could lie. She should lie.
“Wow,” he whispered.
She covered her mouth with a hand, hating herself more. She’d taken too long! Her opportunity to lie and protect him was gone!
“No, don’t cry. That’s not on you. But damn…you really fooled me.”
“Because I’m a liar,” she gushed bitterly.
“I should’ve asked sooner.”
“Why?” she gasped, fighting to breathe. “I would’ve only lied.”
He finally raised his blue eyes to hers.
“Why would you lie?”
She stood there at the foot of the bed, considering that while holding her mouth shut tight to keep it from shaking. With every passing second, the lack of answer brought her closer to a breakdown. Just answer the question. Why? Why did you lie? “I didn’t want you to think…there was something wrong with you. Or me,” she realized.
“Did you tell anybody?” he asked.
“Tell them what?” she wondered, crossing her arms over her stomach while mentally tracing the flower prints on the bed with her eyes.
“About…your problem? Our problem, my problem? Sex problems?”
She shook her head, back to having to hold her mouth shut tight as the years of solitude on the subject pressed into her chest. It was one thing to live through it daily, but to reflect back required you to feel that hell in a collective way.
“Not your sister? Your mother?”
She could only shake her head, wiping her eyes.
“Did you…ever feel good?”
She was down to tapping her foot on the floor and holding her waist tighter. “What do you mean?”
“Sexually?”
What did he mean, ever? “What do you mean by ever?” she hated to ask but had to.
“Have you ever felt good sexually…in all your life…before or during our marriage?”
“Why does before matter?” She didn’t get it. “I mean…I masturbated once but then stopped when I learned it was wrong.”
“What…did you masturbate with?”
The slight wonder or curiosity made her swallow and chew at her lower lip while confused about his question. “Myself?” She dug her thumb nail dug in the clear finish of the bed post.
“But…I mean how?”
How? What answer was he wanting? “With…my fingers? I stopped--”
“I’ve mas
turbated too. As a young man.”
Her heart raced as her mind imagined him doing that. Immediately she grew wet between her legs. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she only barely nodded, with a delicate “Okay,” so he knew she didn’t judge him while also hoping he offered her the same mercy.
“But you were a virgin,” she said, not sure why she did.
“Yes. And you.”
She nodded, chancing a look at him. “You regret that?” she suddenly wondered, unable to raise her guilty gaze. Guilty with what she had no idea, just generally guilty all around.
“Never.”
She nodded a little. “Me neither.”
Was almost like she could feel the years of lies sitting there in their bedroom like grinning demons, enjoying the aftermath of their work. They’d stole so much. The best of what they had even if she hadn’t known they had it. Was she really going to let them steal more? At this hour in their life?
“I had…fantasies,” she pushed through her windpipes, breathless. “About us.” Don’t think about it, just say it. Say what you wanted. “I imagined…” she fought for air, closing her eyes. “I imagined you would undress me. And…look at me like I was something…amazing, something precious. And…you would be gentle, touching me…everywhere. And…as you did everything, you would stare into my eyes and…and kiss me while you did. While you made love to me. Kiss me until… you…finished.”
“Show me.”
His whisper burned through every part of her. Show him?
“Show me right now.”
The harsh need in his words caused her to stand at attention, an instinct to rescue front and center. Hot, determined. Fearless. She locked her gaze to his, her peripheral taking in his physical distress. He was hurting with need and she had to help him. Her attention turned inward, to herself, what she wore. Show him. Show him how she wanted him to touch her.
“Take off your clothes.”
She’d been locked in a prison of what first. Those words freed her, only to turn around and point out how naked she was as she moved to obey him. She was finally being called onto the stage she’d dreamed of being on with him. Only somehow it felt like he commanded her onto a battlefield. Her heart beat like war drums in her chest as shame and inexperience flanked her trembling body.