Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  Jackson had forgotten about their problems just as she had suspected he would.

  Stepping back off his lap, Ginger picked up the tempo of the music as she placed her hands at the sides of her hips, cocking open her legs. She rolled her stomach and hips to the rhythm, tantalizingly.

  Turning around, she lifted the curls of her wig from her shoulders, piling them on her head, as she worked her butt up and around and down just inches from the floor and back up again. Ginger felt her heart pounding as she placed her fingers around the soft folds of her vagina, stroking her warm flesh, watching Jackson watch her. Feeling the juices gathering between her legs, she inserted a finger, stimulating her clitoris, in and out. Slowly at first, then picking up the pace . . . faster . . . faster . . . harder . . . until she felt herself surrendering to her own passions. She stopped, regaining her focus, her tongue curled, moistening her mouth as she moved closer to him. Touching him. Feeling his hardness, seeing him enjoy the scent of sex on her wettish fingers while outlining his mouth, then kissing him.

  Strange how quickly the human body, the instrument of beauty and feeling, could leave the mind behind.

  “I want to fuck you, Jackson,” Ginger said in a low, husky voice. Slowly, she removed his clothing, managing to kiss every inch of him in the process.

  Jackson’s usually sharp instincts misread Ginger. Ginger had hoped he’d see the charade, and refuse. But his need for sex overruled his need for love — and he succumbed.

  A familiar recognition passed between them as Ginger and Jackson moved toward the bed. Ginger gently guided Jackson to lie back against the pillows. As if in slow motion, she massaged his enlarged member, then skillfully stroked him, whispering erotic expletives in his ear that at first made him stiffen with surprise. Then slowly, as he relaxed, she felt his love juices oozing over his stiff penis as her fingers slowly traveled around the cap of his engorged organ.

  Straddling Jackson, Ginger cupped her hands under his buttocks, lifting him a few inches from the bed and guiding him to match her rhythmic thrusts. Jackson grabbed the headboard of the bed and lifted his taut buttocks even higher, as they moved toward a melodic symphony they both could play by heart.

  As her knee dug deeper into the mattress, Ginger gripped the headboard, her perspiring hands pressing next to Jackson’s as she arduously rode him until he shuddered and climaxed. But she knew her quest was not over, and continued to ride him, slowly, ever so slowly, until she felt the heat of his sex growing inside her.

  Placing her hands above his head, next to the sweat-stained pillow, she kissed him hard on the mouth. Twirling her tongue inside, she tasted his tangy sweetness while moving her buttocks erotically around his hardened shaft. Ginger heard Jackson’s shallow breathing as she kissed the base of his neck. The brandy Jackson had imbibed that evening seemed to seep through his glands as he sweated, intoxicating the air above them.

  Raising and lowering her buttocks, she grazed the tip of his organ, enticing and teasing him. Ginger knew he was close to his second orgasm. Ordinarily, she would be also. Yet, she knew the role she was playing tonight was not out of love, but out of hurt and vengeance. She had to prove something to herself and to him. And she would, before the night was over.

  It had only taken Ginger a few minutes of squeezing and stroking with her vagina muscles for Jackson to climax again.

  After returning from the bathroom, she cleansed and bathed his sex with a hot cloth, as Jackson moaned, rolling his buttocks beneath him, his eyes closed. Ginger knew he was thoroughly satisfied, and ready for his traditional exhausted after-sex sleep. But the night was still young, as he would soon see.

  She lit a lilac-scented candle and moved toward the bed. Hearing his shallow breathing, Ginger straddled Jackson’s long body yet again. Only this time, her head was lower. Slowly, she began to massage his penis. She heard garbled words coming from his semiconscious form. Knowing his body almost as well as he did, Ginger knew it would be a mere three or four seconds before he became aroused.

  Ginger began sucking on Jackson’s toes, one by one, and continued to stroke him. His big toe curved slightly while she worked her way up his legs, kissing and licking his moist skin. The musky scent of sweat lingered on Jackson’s hairy legs, as she ran her tongue swiftly over the slick follicles. Turning him over, she kissed the back of his muscular thighs, working her way up to his buttocks. Jackson sighed, and stretched his long body like a leopard, moaning in pleasure.

  Kissing the nape of his neck, Ginger massaged and rolled Jackson’s skin along his back and shoulder with quick, circular motions. Stroking the lower half of his body with long traces of her curled toes, Ginger glided herself over Jackson like an octopus, heating up his body with hers.

  Jackson’s hands reached up around her and cupped her buttocks, grinding beneath her. Ginger then turned him onto his side, sucking on his right nipple, then his left, as she guided him onto his back and climbed on top of him.

  Feeling the velvet throbbing of Jackson’s stiff organ, Ginger quickened her measured strokes to match his gyrating buttocks, which seemed to have a life of their own. Bending down, she kissed his satiny tip glistening in the half-darkness.

  Since he treated her like a whore, and this is what he always said a whore did, she’d show him what a whore could do. She began licking down one side, then the other, following his protruding vein, and around the base, catching the hairs of his sex beneath her teeth, tugging gently.

  What the hell was she doing? Jackson had awakened fully now. “Ginger!” he said, lifting his head from the pillow. “Don’t, baby. You know —”

  Ginger clamped her free hand over his mouth and continued kissing and loving his sex. She knew in her heart that he was enjoying it.

  Still feeling the alcohol racing through his veins, Jackson lay back, knowing he couldn’t fight the excitement rocketing through his penis.

  Gliding her tongue over his sex, Ginger opened her mouth wide to receive as much of him as she could take in, sucking gently. She heard a gasp from Jackson, then continued, at first sucking softly, tenderly, then elevating up and down as far as she could, one hand massaging his testicles, the other splayed across his chest, pressing him to lie back.

  Ginger felt Jackson’s buttocks moving, and pushed his penis farther into her mouth, then she heard a slow hum in the back of his throat. Ginger performed fellatio along and around Jackson’s strained sex, until she tasted the clear liquid lubricating his rigid member. Jackson began calling Ginger’s name over and over while twisting his body to a sitting position.

  Jackson pulled her head to his mouth, and kissed her hard, tasting the musky film coating her lips. Sweat streamed down both their bodies as they slid near the edge of the bed. Knowing her task was not finished, however, Ginger took control of the situation, disengaging her lips from his. Pushing his legs apart with her knees, she lowered her head and stroked his love muscle. As smoothly as a breath, she again took him into her hot mouth, as she knelt before him at the edge of the bed. Grabbing his buttocks, she pulled him deeper into her welcoming mouth. Sucking. Loving. Licking.

  Jackson’s clutched her head, gyrating his lips frantically, thrusting himself deeper, farther into Ginger’s mouth. Arching his back, Jackson stiffened, straining against his desire, trying to prolong the pleasure that was overwhelming him.

  Flicking her tongue around the rim, Ginger blew lightly over his throbbing head, her lips smooth and soft, wide, open and wet. She brushed the top of her tongue over his tiny hole, flicking it in and out, and around.

  A slow groan escaped Jackson’s throat. He started thrashing his legs wildly. Turning his head from side to side. Ginger held on as Jackson tried to scoot from beneath her sucking embrace, but she held on, suckling him harder as they rolled off the bed.

  “Stop, baby. I can’t take any more,” Jackson pleaded as he struggled to free himself.

  That’s what you think. Ginger came after him. Jackson was valiantly trying to catch his breath when Ginger
flipped him over onto his back. Ginger covered Jackson’s body in reverse with hers, curling her toes around his shoulders, pinning him down with her weight. Taking his penis back into her mouth, she watched his toes pointing like arrows as she stroked him.

  He was powerless to make an attempt to stop her again. Ginger could hear the cries of pleasure as his body began to shake. She placed her hands beneath Jackson’s buttocks, forcing him deeper into her mouth. She could see his testicles stiffening, roaming rampant beneath rows of ringed flesh.

  Knowing that his climax was near, she clamped his sweat-soaked buttocks tighter. Ginger continued to draw him into the warmth of her, as Jackson dug his heels into the carpeting, begging her to stop, knowing he couldn’t hold back much longer.

  “Please, baby . . . don’t! Please . . .” Jackson begged.

  Ignoring his pleas, Ginger sucked harder, faster, increasing the tempo, until his veins, strained to the limit along the sides of his rigid penis, took on a purple hue. Ginger let her mind take control of her body, focusing all her attention on her fingertips and tongue, and played a synchronized rhythm along the length of his penis, adjusting and increasing the tempo.

  Ginger could almost hear his heart beating outside his chest, like the drums that she knew were pounding inside his brain. Then he came, and came, trembling uncontrollably. Jackson clamped his legs together tightly, his body responding to the shattering spasms. Ginger massaged the milky fluid oozing from him, then caught her breath, exhausted, wishing his heart had given out. It would have been just what he deserved.

  She let him lie on the floor as he was, tangled in the heap of sheets, his heavy breathing winding down to small snatches of a snore, just as he was.

  He’d loved it, just as Ginger always assumed he would. Ginger’s sweat mixed with tears as she reached to turn off the music. Hesitating for a moment before she left the room, she stood near the bed, looking down at Jackson, staring at the man she loved and hated.

  Blowing out the candle, she took one last look at Jackson. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. When his light snoring graduated into a deep sleep, she left him. Thoroughly disgusted, she went into the bathroom to clean herself, knowing that a part of her would never be completely clean again.

  Knowing he’d be asleep for hours, she pulled the double doors to close off their bed from the living area of their bedroom and packed a small suitcase. She scribbled a note and taped it on the bathroom mirror. Waking Christian, she told him quickly to pack a bag for a few days, and not to ask her any questions. She’d explain later. After packing a bag for the girls, Christian carried the sleeping Autumn, and Ginger assisted Sierra’s drowsy body to the minivan. At first Ginger thought she should go to her mother’s, but instinct told her that Kim’s place would be a better choice. With Kim still in the hospital, she’d have some privacy. She still had her key, and she knew that Kim wouldn’t mind her and the kids staying for a little while.

  Later that evening, Jackson felt for her in the darkness, coming up empty, yet feeling the stickiness between his legs and remembering. He couldn’t believe what he had allowed her to do. Had he been so drunk that he’d dreamed the whole thing? The clammy feeling between his legs proved otherwise.

  Walking into the bathroom, he called out her name. Getting no answer, he turned on the light and noticed the note taped on the mirror.

  Anger filled him as he read the cutting words: It takes a bitch to know a bitch and to show a bitch — fuck you. He didn’t bother to look downstairs. He knew she was gone. Still feeling the effects of the alcohol, he walked naked back to their bed and stretched out in the center without covering himself. She could just go to hell. Fuck her. He didn’t need a whore for a wife anyway.

  On the tenth of December, Kim finally regained her power of speech, and related to Bill the whole sordid story behind the videotape. She knew what she’d done was wrong, but hoped that Bill could forgive her.

  “Kim, I knew about your past before I met you. I’d heard the rumors, but I ignored them. I’m not perfect. And I don’t expect you to be. I know from past experience that everyone has some shameful secret they’re reluctant to share. And I wouldn’t have watched a video of you making love to another man, no matter what the circumstances. I have more respect for you than that.” Bill’s eyes filled with tears as he hugged the woman he loved. “I want you to promise me you’ll never try anything like this again.”

  “Promise. I love you, Dr. Bill. I can’t begin to explain how much,” Kim said, her voice still shaky from the medication.

  Then, pushing her back to arm’s length, Bill asked Kim if she would forgive him. Confusion was written all over her face. “For what?” she asked.

  “I never told you about my son that died.”

  Beneath the stark-white hospital sheets, Kim’s body stiffened, unbelieving. “You had a son?”

  “Yes. Remember the story I told the students at Wayne State about the reasons why I dedicated my life to being a doctor?” Kim nodded, still startled by his revelation. “The child I was referring to that died in the shooting was my son.” A gasp escaped Kim’s lips. “The boy’s mother, Angel, and I were high school sweethearts. She knew my plans to attend medical school. We agreed to wait until I completed my internship before marrying and starting a family.

  “But Angel became pregnant just before graduation. Somehow my mother found out, and confronted her. Angel assured me that she’d get an abortion. I didn’t know why then, but that’s when our relationship started falling apart. Before I left, we agreed to communicate, but my letters and phone calls went unanswered a few months later.

  “I found out from my mother Angel had left town, and shortly afterwards, married a man much older than herself. Years later, after her husband died, she returned with her son. After one look at the boy, my mother put two and two together and guessed the child was mine. Angel didn’t deny it. But my mother never told me about the boy until it was too late. Less than a month after my son was shot, my mother had a heart attack. I was bitter, Kim. I’d lost my son, my mother, and part of my soul as well.”

  Now Kim understood Bill’s ideas about raising a family, and why he had resented her not wanting any children. But after everything that had happened in their lives, he knew that now was not the time to talk about it. They had come a long way.

  Embracing Bill, Kim wept harder than she had in years. Everything was coming together.

  * * *

  “It’s so good to hear from you, Randall,” Kim said, cupping the telephone receiver.

  “How you feeling?”

  “I’m just fine. Thanks for the calls to Bill,” Kim answered, looking at the photograph of Bill that sat on the stand near her bed.

  “Anytime.”

  “I should be going home by the end of December. Maybe before Christmas if everything goes well.” A wave of guilt made Kim want to explain to Randall why she had been so stupid as to try and take her life. “Randall . . .” she began slowly.

  “Listen, Kim we’re friends. There’s no need to explain. I’ve always known what went on between you and Cameron. Believe me, knowing Bill, I can understand why you felt that you couldn’t tell him. Until now. He’s got a fresh attitude about life. Just give him a little time.” His voice wavered, enunciating each word carefully. “Time is precious. None of us knows how much time we have in this world. We have no idea how long. But once that time is lost, it’s irretrievable.”

  “Randall . . . ?” Kim felt a lump in her throat. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Anything?”

  “Have you found anyone special since you’ve been in London?”

  “No. Just an occasional distraction from . . . you know.”

  “You two haven’t had any further communication?”

  “He’s been over a few times. He assures me that he still loves me, yet he’s still not ready to commit to what we could have together. I don’t believe he will ever come to terms with his sexuality . . . so . . . I’v
e tried to forget him. That’s part of the reason why I’m not coming back. But there’s no one I’ve met who comes close to what we shared.”

  “I understand totally, Randall.”

  Kim was released from the hospital five days before Christmas. After a visit from her father, she’d made a speedy recovery. Ollie jokingly told her that he would probably outlive her. When he actually walked from the doorway to her bedside, it had given her the extra push that she needed. Her father had left her with a word of wisdom for her future.

  “No one is so old that he cannot live yet another year, nor so young that he cannot die today. When God wounds from on high, he will follow with the remedy. When one door closes, fortune will usually open another.”

  Kim rehearsed those words until she knew them by heart. They taught her to believe in the glory and the wisdom of God.

  Ginger and her three children had spent two weeks cramped in Kim’s apartment before Randall suggested to Kim that Ginger and her kids use his apartment. It was all paid for. The only stipulation was tender loving care of its inhabitants.

  Edward Deiter was charged with second-degree murder, rape, and attempted rape. He was arraigned, and a “presentation of evidence” trial date was set, as was a bond in excess of $250,000. After completely draining his bank account, Deiter made bond and returned home.

  After rumors of his behavior spread, he was inevitably dismissed from his position as an advertising executive. Unable to seek employment, he eventually lost his home. Piece by piece Edward Deiter’s life fell apart. The last anyone heard, he was purportedly living in Indiana with a young woman.

  After reading that Mr. Deiter was released on bond, Ginger was afraid to go out alone. More often she took Christian with her on home showings. The girls went only when Christian was unavailable. They enjoyed looking at the homes. It was like a personalized Parade of Homes which they’d frequented with Ginger over the years.