by Krista Wolf
This meant he’d killed people. It was something I hadn’t ever considered.
“But he’s so happy,” I said. “Always cheerful. I never would’ve ever suspected he’d—”
“He never talks about it,” Ryan told me in confidence. “I think it’s how he deals with it, and that’s fine. Some guys can set the job aside. Some bring it back with them. Dakota’s one of they lucky ones who can separate the two, so we’ve learned not to ask him.”
My own stories were a lot less exciting. I talked about growing up without my parents, and how hard it was to have such a life-defining moment come right dead smack in the middle of your childhood. It was like having two lives, really. One before… and one after.
“Show us,” Ryan had said one night, as the fire flickered.
“Huh?”
“You have pictures, right?’
I’d smiled and left the room, returning with the only photo book I owned. It was old and dog-eared; put together by a grieving nine-year old kid with two shaking hands. But in it, my mother… my father. The only two loves of my life, smiling happily back at me. Staring at me from a timeline that could’ve been. From a place where everything was still okay, and good, and happy, and we still had a future together as a family…
“They’re awesome,” Dakota smiled, flipping through the pages. “You should be happy you had them, even for the time you did.”
Our nights by the fire were always my favorite. Sometimes we’d listen to music or play games. Other times we’d just talk. On colder evenings we’d pile pillows and blankets close to the fire, then lay there lazily trading stories and massages and other stuff too.
Afterward, of course, we all fell into bed together.
It was incredibly liberating, being this free and shameless and dirty. I lay back for my gorgeous boyfriends, spreading my legs for each of them in turn. Sometimes we screwed slowly, making out like teenagers, trading off whenever one of them got too close, or too hot, or too heavy. But other times?
Other times it was hard and fast and deliciously filthy.
I was in a state of perpetual bliss; there were always at least one set of hands on my body. Always a pair of lips pressed up against mine, or a warm cock, or a hard shoulder to chew on while I was being fucked long and strong and deep. My boyfriends took me together, crushing me against their bodies, sandwiching me between them, filling me on either side from within. My pussy was never not wet, or soaked with desire, or full of come…
Thanksgiving arrived, and we celebrated together. We had way too much food, way too much drink and tons of laughter. And as I sat there staring across the table at each of them, I finally came a realization: we were a lot more than just some strange, out-of-the-box relationship.
We were like family.
I’d grown to adore and rely on these men… and them me. Kyle, with his humor, wit and charm. Dakota, bright-eyed and optimistic and always smiling. And Ryan, who could go from stoic indifference to a wide, beautiful grin — all in the span of seeing us as he walked through the door at the end of the day.
You love them.
It was true. I did love them. I loved them with all my heart, my body, even my soul.
And the scariest part about the whole thing was that it wasn’t scary at all.
December brought snow. It blanketed the world outside our home, making it beautiful and picturesque. The boys spent more time with me, even enjoying the crisp outdoor air. We made snowmen out in the garden. Even ice skated across the frozen lake.
Nothing was off limits. Nothing held back. It was four people enjoying each other; three friends as close as brothers, and me, the one person who could give them something they were all missing: a loving girlfriend.
I was the final missing piece of the puzzle. The experience they could finally share, wholly and completely, without fear or guilt or remorse.
And I loved it.
With Christmas approaching, we went out shopping together. It was fun, picking a guy, taking him out, letting him tell me what kinds of gifts the other guys wanted. And then there was the day they all went shopping together. To get me a gift… although to be honest, I already had everything I’d ever need.
It was all so picture perfect. So amazingly flawless, it was almost like a dream. Nothing could drive us apart. Nothing could keep us from continuing down the path of exploring and loving each other…
Until the day Kyle and Dakota came home to announce they were being deployed.
Thirty-Eight
SAMMARA
They were notified on a Monday. By Thursday, they were gone. They’d miss Christmas, and that part was shitty. So we had our own little Christmas before they left… exchanging gifts and everything, right under our tree.
It was fun and exciting, even if it was overshadowed by their imminent departure. Kyle and Dakota put on their game faces and made it good for us though. We slept in and drank coffee spiked with rum by the fire, while playing games and Christmas songs and trying to be cheerful. The two of them promised they’d stay safe, and be back soon. Ryan and I promised we’d have the house finished by the time they returned, even though none of us had any idea when that might be.
Of course I gave each of them my sluttiest sendoff. Dakota I took out to lunch, just the two of us. On the way back I had him turn off into the woods, where I proceeded to give him the dirtiest, sloppiest blowjob before climbing on and fucking his brains out right there in the cab of his truck.
Kyle got me later that night, in his bedroom, just the two of us. First I dressed in his favorite outfit: fishnets and garter belts. Then, while he was in the shower, I tied myself face-down on his bed and left a note on my back telling him he could do whatever he wanted…
I was still proudly sore by the time we said our goodbyes. I gave them two of the longest, most heartfelt kisses of my entire life, and then the car that was sent for them was pulling away, leaving Ryan and I in the dust.
I felt sad. Somewhat worried. All the same emotions any soldier’s wife or girlfriend must feel when her man is rushing off into the unknown. Then again, this was why I was here. To be there for them when they got back. To not let a deployment interfere with our relationship, no matter how long or how rough it might be.
Ryan did his best to console me, and that made it easier. The house was quiet with just the two of us, and at first it was awkward. Not awkward between us — no, that part was perfect. Awkward as in not having as many voices, as many people always milling around. Even the construction crews had dwindled down to a few interior experts, and they weren’t always there, especially with the holiday coming up.
Overall, the house just seemed colder and emptier without Kyle and Dakota.
“Let’s go somewhere!” I told Ryan one night, straddling him on the couch.
“You mean like around here?”
“No, I mean go go,” I said excitedly. I kissed his ear. His neck. Down across his chest… “Someplace far.”
Ryan was a homebody, and I knew getting him out would be a struggle. So I picked the one place he knew. The one place he might be likely to visit again, and therefore bring me along with him.
“Take me to New York!”
He looked back at me skeptically. “Now? Really?”
“Yes!” I squealed. “It’ll be good to get out of here for a bit. Especially with the others gone. We can put the renovations on hold for a few days. See Manhattan during Christmas!”
My tongue traced down the salty expanse of his chest, my mouth closing hotly over one nipple. I bit it playfully and he jumped, shoving his bulge upward against my panty-covered sex.
“C’mon,” I said. “I’ll be fun!”
His breathing was shallow and rapid, and I didn’t have to look to know his eyes were closed. Slowly I traced circles around his nipple. After a while I worked my way downward, stopping along his deeply tanned abdomen to plant little kisses all along the flat of his stomach.
“Have you ever been to New York City during Chr
istmas?” I asked, pulling his shorts and boxers down.
“Of course!” Ryan laughed. “You won’t find a New Yorker who hasn’t. Not a true one, anyway.”
“Then take me…” I whispered, sinking to the floor. I was on my knees now. Kneeling between his legs. “Please?”
I looked up at him seductively, putting on my best pair of innocent doe-eyes. His cock was only inches from my face. Through my peripheral vision I could see it slowly rising, like a loaf of leavened bread.
“Really? You want to go to New York for Christmas?”
I nodded my head, while sliding one hand around the base of his manhood. I could feel it coming alive in my hand. All thick and warm…
Ryan guided my head over until he was pressed against my lips. Our eyes met. Silently, an agreement was made.
“Convince me…” he sighed, leaning back on the couch.
And so I did.
Thirty-Nine
RYAN
Going ‘home’ had never occurred to me, simply because I never had a home to go to. New York was nothing more than the place I grew up. Brooklyn, the streets I ran on, screwed up on, and ultimately, left.
But as we returned to the same old neighborhood I used to stir up trouble in? Nostalgia kicked in. I began remembering everything; from the narrow alley where I’d stolen my first car, to the cement stoop of the brownstone where I’d stolen my first kiss.
All of it was somehow special, and I didn’t even know it. I’d jumped so headfirst into the Army, quite literally, that I’d forgotten this place. I’d done my best to put everything here out of my head.
Now suddenly, it was beginning to grow on me again.
“Show me the house you grew up in!” Sammara said excitedly.
My reply came with a smirk. “Which one?”
She cast her gaze downward, realizing her mistake. It was an honest one though, so I let her off the hook.
“How about I show you my favorite?”
Five blocks later there we were, standing before the last house in a series of identical homes. The Bradfords had fostered me here until I was seventeen, along with three other boys. The time had gone quick — maybe a year and a half — but they’d treated me well enough that I still kept in touch with them. I still wrote them from time to time, although they’d moved south together years ago.
Because it was the least chaotic of my foster homes, the place held a special charm for me. There were more good memories here than bad ones, something which wasn’t true at most of the other place I’d lived.
“You’ve never wanted to look up your actual parents?” Sammara was asking. It was a question she’d put to me before. One she never seemed to accept my answer for.
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because they left me,” I said. “Abandoned me at a young age to be cared for by strange people.” I looked at her with a frown. “Real parents don’t do that.”
She accepted that answer, at least for now, as we walked arm in arm through the snow-capped streets. I took her to the older part of the neighborhood. To a place I knew she’d geek out looking at some of the original buildings and architecture. We spent some time there, but she was more interested in leaning against me. In stopping for hot chocolate and snuggling up to me and basically just enjoying the feel of being close.
Crossing to the next block, I watched her eyes light up as she scanned the sign above a nearby subway station.
“I want to see Coney Island!” she said suddenly.
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s December. It’s practically closed.”
Sammara shrugged. “I’ll bet it’s still beautiful.”
I paused for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. D train. Let’s go.”
It was nice, having a girlfriend again. Having someone to talk to, to care for, to hold in my arms. And yes, to keep me warm at night. Inside and out.
And as cliche as it sounded? Sammara was the perfect girl for me. She was tough but sweet. Headstrong when it suited her, but soft beneath her hard exterior. She was thoughtful, and always caring. Yet she was never clingy, or possessive, or demanding.
I’d grown to care about her. So much that sometimes I even felt pangs of jealousy, when I saw her laughing with Dakota, or cuddling up to Kyle. It wasn’t a sexual jealousy either — that part, the sharing a girlfriend part, had been way hotter than I ever imagined it could be.
No, it more a jealousy of attention. I’d walk through the house, catch a glimpse of her being held or hugged or kissed, and I’d feel these little pangs of envy that she could be as close to someone else as she was with me.
Still, I’d learned to push it aside. Embrace it, even. These weren’t just my friends, they were my brothers-in-arms. They were men who’d saved my life — the closest people in all the world to me. Sharing Sammara with them wasn’t like losing her attention to anyone else. It was like keeping it within our own private circle. Multiplying the affection by three and four, rather than dividing it.
I loved that part as much as I loved her.
Our ride ended, and we stepped out onto the elevated platform. The wind had picked up some, crystallizing the snow, making everything look like it was covered in diamonds.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“What?”
“You were right… it is beautiful in the winter.”
Everything looked incredible, from the boardwalk and its shuttered shops to the old superstructure of the amusement park. We could see the Wonder Wheel, frozen in time. The great skeleton of the Cyclone, its winding tracks still covered in long snakes of ice-blown snow. We stepped forward, marveling at the vast expanse of open grey sky. Everything was eerie and dramatic. But just as Sammara said, also beautiful.
“I love you.”
I took her hands as I said it, turning to face her. Her eyes went glassy, and not just from the cold or wind.
“Oh baby, I love you too.”
Her mouth cracked into a smile as she pulled me in and kissed me. My whole world tilted. The Wonder Wheel started to spin.
It was incredible, the feeling of wholeness. Of being able to say it. To finally mean it, not just with my heart, or with words formed by my mouth, but with the entirety of my soul.
“You make me happy Ryan. You make me feel loved, and safe, and protected.” An ocean breeze picked up, playing with her hair. “I’m glad for the home we’ve built. I’m glad I’m with you…”
Her arms slid around me, and we held each other for a long time. The cold didn’t matter. The wind, the snow — none of it played a factor, because all that existed was my heart against her heart, beating together, silently conveying a message that no amount of words ever could.
A smell wafted in — a very familiar smell. Kissing her one more time I grinned down at Sammara and pulled her along the boardwalk with me.
“Where are we—”
“Nathan’s World Famous hot dogs,” I said proudly. “At least they’re still open.”
Forty
SAMMARA
The New Year came, and winter gave way to spring. It was astonishingly pretty, seeing the trees come back to life. Watching the ice melt on the lake, as the warmth of the sun breathed life back into the world all around us.
Kyle and Dakota were still away, but they communicated often. We text-messaged almost every day, and they were able to video chat a few times as well. Wherever they were, it was extremely warm. I envied that at first, but over time I found myself actually enjoying hunkering down with Ryan. Enjoying the reassuring feel of the warm fire he always kept stoked in the house, especially on the colder days where it stung your eyes and bit at your skin.
By the end of March, the house was nearly done. The beautiful multi-colored rooms had been meticulously restored, or repainted where they had to be. The trim work was immaculate, the wood finishes stained and polished, the recessed ceilings washed white and clean and new. Even the floor had been brought back
to its former glory, including all the parquet inserts as well as the gorgeous compass rose in the foyer.
In terms of repair and redecoration, things were ahead of schedule. But back at the office?
Business-wise things had gone from bad to worse.
There were simply not enough jobs, and too little to do. I started skipping days, which only pissed Dawn off, and we fought more often than we actually talked. I thought about taking my pieces and leaving; maybe starting my own place, doing my own thing. Focusing more on the reno side of things than the staging and decorating she loved so much. But I didn’t want to let her down. I didn’t want to give up on what we’d built together, especially if this was only a rough patch.
Ryan worked a lot, so when he came home it was always wonderful to see him. We ate, drank, laughed, went out… but most of the time, we just stayed home.
We’d exhausted the full gamut of places to screw in the old house, christening just about every room along the way. I’d been fucked hard against wood-paneled walls. Bent over the 200-year old loveseat in the trophy room. We’d screwed on every ottoman and cushioned tuffet, and I’d ridden my broad-chested boyfriend up and down, on chair after vintage chair.
It became sort of a game for us. A challenge as to who could come up with the most creative place to get our rocks off. Some ideas were good ones, like the time we fucked in the great bay window, looking out over the snowdrifts, my breath frosting the glass. But there were bad ones too, such as the night Ryan nearly had an asthma attack from all the dust we stirred up in the attic.
Things even got rough at times, and I loved those sessions most of all. We’d rocked headboards hard enough to make holes in the plaster. Teamed up and shattered an old chair in the library. And the more we had sex? The more we seemed to actually need it. Our libidos were crazy, almost like we were making up for the others not being there. Or at least I was, and Ryan was quite happily reaping the benefits by going along.