Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  “I can give you another one, you know.”

  Neely giggled as Charley rolled against her back and held her, breathing in the familiar sweetness of cocoa butter mingled with the redolence of sex. “Oh my God, I love the sensation of a woman against my back. Stay right there.”

  Charley combed her fingers through Neely’s hair. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Oh, that feels good. Of course. Anything.”

  “You said you’ve wanted me for a long time?”

  “Since you walked through the door of the Y the first morning I was on duty.”

  “What was it? That made you want me?”

  “Really?” Neely rolled over and kissed Charley. “I can’t even begin to tell you what you do to me.” Neely ran her hand through Charley’s curls. “Everything about you makes me a little crazy.” Neely eased on top of Charley and kissed her again. “And a little nervous.” She kissed Charley’s nose. “And a lot hot.” Neely stroked a finger across Charley’s eyebrow.

  “And…” Charley saw the sheepish look on Neely’s face as she wrestled with what she wanted to say. “Something told me you were way experienced in bed.”

  Charley laughed. “I think you’ve got some solid cred yourself there.”

  Neely kissed a path down Charley’s neck, taking the pearl necklace gently in her lips. A moment later, her palm was on Charley’s sex and she entered her. Charley groaned, grabbed Neely’s butt, and found her damp slit, opening her. Neely dropped the necklace, her head falling back when Charley penetrated her. They moved in tandem, Neely’s eyes locked on Charley’s, Charley’s legs wrapped around Neely. She moved faster when she found Charley’s hard clit.

  “Come with me,” Neely begged.

  “Higher, up higher,” Charley ordered. “That’s it. Now match my stroke.”

  Neely slowed down. “Do I have you?”

  Charley answered by digging her heels into Neely’s thighs. It had been a long time since anyone had played in bed with her like this. She didn’t want it to end. She felt Neely growing against her finger, slipped under her clit and stroked the shaft. Neely’s body stiffened against Charley and she came. Charley kissed her, felt the muscles working in her shoulders, skimmed her hands over them, and as her own orgasm triggered, she raked her nails back across the same path.

  “Oh, my God,” Neely breathed.

  Charley could barely get enough air. Her head dropped into the pillow; tingling rose from her toes to her fingers. She closed her legs around Neely’s thigh, her sex tight against it as she hugged Neely to her chest, her nails digging into Neely’s back.

  “Oh my God, I can feel you throbbing against my thigh.” Neely’s eyes widened.

  “Don’t let me go until it stops.”

  Neely buried her face in Charley’s breasts, put her hand under Charley’s thigh, and held it firmly against her.

  “How often do you work out?” Charley asked, running her hands up and down Neely’s back. “Your muscles drive me a little crazy.”

  “I’m at the Y every day, remember?”

  “Of course. What was I thinking? Can I ask you something else? And you’ll answer me truthfully this time?”

  Neely looked up at Charley from between her breasts. “Anything,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Oh God…”

  “Why?” Neely lifted her head. “How old are you?”

  “I’m fifty, Neely.”

  “You are not.”

  “How old did you think I was?”

  “Forty-two, maybe.”

  Charley trailed her fingers around Neely’s lips and down the center of her nose. Neely hadn’t seemed to notice or care that she was a little pudgy, and that there were age lines on her face Charley hadn’t seen a year ago. Would her admission of her age change that?

  “Does it matter?” Neely asked. “We just blew up the sheets. And we weren’t even in them.”

  “Speaking of which, can we get under the covers?”

  “You’re still throbbing. A little.”

  “And I’m getting a chill.”

  Neely pulled the covers back and Charley got under them.

  “Let me hold you,” Neely said.

  “Okay, but only for a little bit.”

  “You don’t like to be held? What woman doesn’t like to cuddle after sex?”

  “I love to be held. But you said you love the sensation of a woman against your back, and I’d like to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

  “You’ll stay the night?”

  “Mmmm. Let’s just enjoy this moment and fall asleep with each other.” Charley caressed Neely’s arms as she sighed and pulled Charley closer.

  “This is so nice,” Neely whispered. “When is the last time this happened to you?”

  Charley hesitated, thinking about the last night she and Tricia made love. “Four years ago.”

  “Four years and no sex? Ouch.” Neely played with the pearl necklace.

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, don’t do that to me…”

  “What?”

  “I just got a mental picture of you ‘taking care of yourself.’”

  Charley laughed out loud. “Turned yourself on, did you, imagining me lying in my bed with my hand between my legs?”

  Neely’s moan came from deep within her chest. “Just your hand? No toys? You live on the edge. Or is that another generational thing we can discuss later?”

  Charley drew away. “We have run across a few of those, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t care about ’em right now.” Neely rolled over and settled on her hip and stomach, her arm under the pillow. Charley snuggled in behind her and gathered her close, pressing her breasts into Neely’s back.

  “Oh, my God. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Charley shifted around slightly, teasing Neely.

  “You keep that up and I’m gonna have to blow you again.”

  “Promises, promises. The necklace isn’t going to hurt? I can take it off.”

  “No, it feels as good as your breasts.”

  “You’re so funny, asking me to keep the jewelry on.”

  “I think there’s nothing sexier than a naked woman adorned in jewelry,” Neely said softly, “especially when she’s lying on her back beneath me.”

  A few minutes later, Neely’s breath became slow and even with sleep. Charley ran her hand up and down Neely’s thigh and hip and kissed her shoulder, amazed by the strong young body next to hers. But she was acutely aware this would be the only time that wall should come down. She didn’t belong here. And she couldn’t ask Neely to continue with a liaison whose outcome wouldn’t end in happily ever after.

  She very slowly extricated her arms from around Neely, slipped out of the bed, and gathered her clothes. In the living room, she dressed, found a piece of paper and a pen, and sat down.

  My sweet Neely,

  I think our coming together is kismet. What you gave me tonight can’t be measured, and you have no idea how grateful I am for it. But it’s what you give me Tuesday nights that is having the greatest impact, and it’s what I need most from you. You are gifted, probably more than you realize, you are a natural teacher, and I’d like to be your student. Until I can catch up. If that will ever be possible.

  “Kismet” comes from the Turkish and Arabic for “portion” or “division,” to working our way through the chapters or sections of our lives to reach our destinies. I’m hoping that when I show up at the library Tuesday night, you’ll be there, wanting the next chapter, too. I think that’s the future we can ask of each other. And if you’re not there, I’ll understand.

  Charley

  She took the rose she’d brought from the vase Neely had put it in, tiptoed into the bedroom, laid it on the pillow with the note, and quietly let herself out of the apartment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Minutes later, in a cab
heading downtown, the driver chattering about the loneliness of the city’s streets at this hour, Charley pulled out her phone, clicked on Joanna’s contact, and looked at the blank space where a photo should’ve been. But she didn’t need a photo. Over the prattle of the cabbie, the soaring orchestrations of “Johanna” from the musical Sweeney Todd began playing in Charley’s mind, and she heard the young suitor swearing that he thought he’d been dreaming but woke to find she was real… Neely hadn’t been a dream, and although Charley and Joanna had only been out together twice, she knew, like she’d never known anything before, that there could be something real there. But would she get the chance to find out?

  Bing popped up from the couch when she opened the apartment door, blinking against the too-bright hall light behind her, his fur sticking out at peculiar angles in his newly wakened state. She asked him if he wanted breakfast; he answered by stretching the length of the pillows and was asleep again before she hung up her coat. Making her way to her bed, she dropped everything on the floor and crawled under the covers. But she was wide-awake. Everything about the last few hours with Neely played through her mind. She hadn’t had sex like that in years. Moving into a more comfortable position, she realized when her sciatic nerve complained that she’d be paying for it over the next couple of days. She didn’t care. In fact, for a moment she thought about going back to Neely’s apartment and…what? Tell her she’d made a mistake leaving like that? No. It hadn’t been a mistake. It was the right decision for both of them. And for what she hoped might happen with Joanna. A conversation she’d had in the library with Neely the other night came back to her, and she realized she was still smarting from it. She’d asked Neely what path she planned on following when she finally got her master’s in May. Neely had looked at her blankly until she prompted her to think about what kind of employment she’d seek.

  “I’m going to write,” she had answered.

  “And pay the rent with what?” Charley had asked.

  “I’ll figure it out. But I won’t be you. I won’t take something nine to five to pay that rent and sacrifice my craft.”

  Not for the first time, the fact that Charley was old enough to be her mother had resonated with her.

  Bob jumped up on the bed and poked his cold nose against her cheek like a brief kiss. Then he settled his fluffy little body alongside hers, facing her, stretched one paw out to protectively touch her wrist, sighed, and closed his eyes. I have a special relationship with the Sandman, she’d told Joanna. Where was he now? She thought about popping a couple of ibuprofen but didn’t want to wake Bob. Staring out the window at the inky darkness giving way to dawn, Charley realized she was on a desire line in her life right now. She’d departed from the tried-and-true path the night she’d met Joanna and had forged further off it with Neely. For all intents and purposes, she was in the middle of nowhere now. Of one thing she was certain: she didn’t want to go back to the worn path. She closed her eyes and saw the two glittering green eyes that seemed to haunt her sleep almost every night now…

  Late Saturday morning, Charley carried the pail of sudsy water from the kitchen to the bedroom and began moving furniture to clean, finding pockets of dirt that made her crazy. How does this stuff get in here? I have screens on every window. The armoire door was still ajar from having moved it to clean behind it, and when she slipped her hand inside and braced her shoulder against it to move it back into place, something squeaked, the door banged open, and a panicked Bob flew out. Charley screamed and then fell on the bed laughing.

  When she recovered, she headed to the bathroom to take care of last night’s clothes still in a heap where they’d been tossed. The scent of sex was on everything. She put the lingerie into cold soapy water in the sink. Sitting on the side of the tub for a moment, she thought about last night. Her phone hadn’t rung, there were no texts or emails. Was Neely okay? Or was she licking her wounds? Charley would know for certain Tuesday night. It had been difficult asking Neely, in the note, to meet her this coming Tuesday at the library, as usual, but it was the only way she knew to preserve the relationship she wanted with her, and to give her the same avenue.

  Rinsing the lingerie, Charley then gently wrung out the pieces in the sink, hung them up, and tossed everything else into the laundry hamper.

  The armoire needed tidying, but she found a rugby shirt and a pair of capri pants, and pulled them out. It was a balmy autumn day and she wanted to take advantage of the sunshine on the walk downtown. Half an hour later, she was standing at Tricia’s front desk admiring the woman behind it who was calling upstairs. Tricia’s warning that her weekend concierge was stunning had been an understatement.

  Tricia was waiting when she stepped off the elevator. Charley could tell that something had shifted in the night. It didn’t take her long to draw it out. Tricia had had second thoughts about the levels of pain she might be facing after going over Charley’s notes, and she wondered if she shouldn’t consider radiation to manage the tumor. Before Tricia could rethink it, Charley texted Dr. Gerard asking how soon the first treatment could be arranged. His responding text arrived soon after and they read it together. He had set up the appointment for early Monday morning, explaining that this would be the simulation. The radiation oncologist would fit molds and blocks on Tricia’s prone body to pinpoint the precise area to hit with the measured radiation. With that map, Tricia would be in and out five mornings a week, and each session would only be a matter of minutes. Charley blanched, realizing the possibility of spending every morning with Tricia could become reality.

  “You know,” Tricia said, “I can probably get through the treatments myself. A few minutes is not a big deal. So you’re off the hook, Sancho Panza.”

  Charley’s relief was quickly replaced by guilt, neither of which she wanted Tricia to know she was experiencing. She left Tricia’s after lunch. Ensconced on the couch watching the Clemson game, she realized she’d lost track of time thinking about Tricia when Bob jumped up onto her chest and gently poked at her nose with his curled paw. She hoisted the cat under her arm like a football and did the Heisman Trophy run to the kitchen, Bob complaining loudly until she put his dinner plate down. Bing sauntered in and hunkered down in front of his plate. Charley left them happily eating and headed out to Brooke’s.

  Following nearly the same route to Brooke’s as she had to Tricia’s, Charley marveled at the irony that Brooke and Tricia only lived a few blocks apart and hadn’t known it. They had never liked each other. Brooke thought Tricia was high-handed and arrogant, and Tricia thought Brooke was flip and judgmental. They’d both been right.

  The one silver lining of tonight’s get-together: her friends hadn’t invited a woman for her to meet. For the first time in a long time, though, she wasn’t looking forward to the evening. And that bothered her. She loved these dinners, which had started out so many years ago as Brooke’s way of keeping their circle of college friends together. They’d become an anchor for her, a place to be completely herself with the women she knew best. Girlfriends had come and gone, or, like Annie, become wives and stayed. That Jamie and Lindsay finally realized they’d had a thing for each other since sophomore year, had acted on it, and become a couple several years ago, amused them all no end. But tonight, she’d actually considered telling Brooke she wasn’t feeling well and staying home.

  She bought a bottle of white wine on the walk down, not wanting to be the empty-handed guest she’d been last month. Lindsay answered the door, drew Charley inside, and hugged her, offering an apology.

  “Let’s let that go, Linds. I’m fine, I’m sure Karen is fine. So don’t take on any guilt for either one of us.” Charley poured a short Johnnie Walker Black and asked who’d seen the most recent plot twist on The Blacklist, and like that, Karen was quickly forgotten, traded for the intrigue of Red Reddington, and then for all the current troubles in their lives. Charley was content to sit back and listen to each of them sort out the other’s problems, forgetting everything about her own. T
oward the end of dinner, her phone vibrated, and she slid it out of her pocket, figuring it was her mother. After a recent series of emails with her brother Robert, she’d taken on her mother’s grocery duties and now received all manner of texts from her asking for one item at a time, giving her insight into why Robert needed help. Instead, it was Joanna.

  Joanna: Just a quick drop-in to say hi, how are you, and where are we going Monday night?

  Charley was surprised. And thrilled. She got up from her chair and moved to a window in the living room. Hey! Nice to hear from you, I’m fine and I was thinking about Pietro’s because it’s a block from the Y. Is that okay, and how are you?

  Joanna: Irene having an off night so I’m hovering. Just thinking about what to wear this week if I don’t do laundry Mon.

  Charley quietly laughed. And here I was thinking you were thinking about me. Hold on while I put this ego down. There, much better.

  Joanna sent back an eyeball-rolling emoticon.

  A local Italian place, wear jeans if you want.

  A thumbs-up emoji came back. When nothing else followed, Charley returned to the table and was met with several inquisitive looks.

  “Was that your mom? Everything okay?” Brooke asked.

  “It was a…friend.”

  “Really?” Jamie asked. “Because you’re all pink.”

  Charley scrambled. “Must be the heat register. I was standing right near it.”

  Annie came out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee and put a raspberry cobbler in front of Brooke. She leaned over Charley’s shoulder and quietly asked her if she wanted to talk to them about Tricia over dessert. Charley shook her head.

  “Who wants cobbler?” Brooke asked, the knife poised above the dessert. Everyone raised their hand.

  “Charley, you’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Lindsay said.

  “Except for that text message from your friend,” Jamie noted, putting air quotes around the word.

  “I do have friends other than you guys, you know.”

  Brooke coughed and Charley shot her a warning look.