“You have an art buddy.”
“Right on.”
“What does Carl paint?”
Carl painted horrible still-lifes. He sold his paintings at craft fairs for 10 bucks each.
“One thing at a time,” said Zach. Sam laughed. She could read him and his sarcasm enough to know what it meant, but seemed pleased by the spark. And it was true. Where there was one Carl, there would be many, and maybe some would take their work seriously. Memphis was a creative city. Zach just had to find a hub where he could fit.
Sam brushed her hand down the front of his shirt, straightening its wrinkles as if they were yet to go out to dinner rather than returning. She reached his crotch, and laughed again, this time with genuine humor.
“You consoled a weepy woman with your pants open.”
“Duty called. I answered.”
She flipped at his open belt, then at his fly. Her finger trailed into the opening, running across the ridge in his shorts.
“You’re still hard.”
“Some amazingly beautiful woman was about to give me a blowjob,” Zach explained.
“Sounds hot.”
“Then we had a frank discussion about our relationship.”
Still looking down, still running her finger along his shorts, Sam said, “Now that’s sexy.”
“It was beautiful in its own way.”
“I smell bullshit.”
“No. It was a talk we needed to have. See, this girl and I? We have a baby on the way.”
Sam’s finger continued to move, idly, stirring.
“I still smell bullshit.”
“No bullshit at all.”
She looked up at him. “When I was lying on your chest, did you look down my top?”
“No.”
“Liar.” She turned. “Unzip me.”
“I want to keep talking about our relationship.”
She wiggled her shoulders insistently. He ran the zipper down her back, exposing a smooth expanse of tanned skin. She pulled her shoulders from the dress and let it fall, pooling at her waist. She stood, slid it to the floor, then sat beside him, now wearing only a pair of white panties.
“Emotional women are easy,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt.
“Talk to me more about emotional suffocation.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“You’re right. Let me tell you about Carl’s paintings, then.”
For the second time that night, Sam’s cheeks pursed out, and she lost a laugh. Her breasts shook with the force. Zach responded as her hand crept lower.
“I’m feeling better,” she said.
He cupped one of her breasts, found it perfectly sized. “Yes,” he said. “You feel great.”
“The hormones are going away.”
“Hey,” he said, “how do you make a hormone?”
“I don’t know. How?”
“Don’t pay her.”
“Holy shit.” Sam rolled her eyes and groaned. “Do you want to get laid or not?”
“Is that still on the table?”
“I’d figured on the bed.”
He sighed. “So conventional.”
“You’re complaining?”
It was OK. She had said it playfully, as he had. Memories hit him in force: first the sincere, close emotional connection he felt when Sam first wrapped her arms around him, now the banter. Despite her supposed irritation, his juvenile humor had gotten him laid many times throughout their marriage. It was nearly impossible to get most girls to go down on you behind a stack of firewood with a straight face. But make a joke about “getting wood” as he’d done at his parents cabin … while his parents were inside? Well, sky was the limit.
“I’m not complaining.”
She poked at him. “You are so hard!”
“Well, that’s how these things work.” Zach slipped a hand into Sam’s panties and made her suddenly quiet. She wasn’t so high and mighty, either. She was wet like a sponge, and judging by its warmth, it hadn’t stopped for long. Zach wondered if it was possible for a woman to be emotionally distraught and horny at once. Hard to say. Girls were complicated.
“Oh,” she said.
He leaned in and kissed her, softly. His palm flat on her small patch of hair, he curled a finger to her clit and rolled over it. Sam closed her eyes.
“I guess it’s still on the table.”
“Keep doing that,” she said, eyes still closed.
Zach increased his pressure, adding another finger. She sighed. He moved slowly, rubbing in a large, moist circle. Her head fell to his neck, her breath hot on his skin. Sam’s hand moved to his cock, but was distracted and not skin-on-skin. The more distracted Sam was by his ministrations, the more turned on she got. Sex for Sam was the same pressure valve as it was for Zach; she was just harder to ply into motion. She’d have a rough day, and claim she didn’t have the energy to fuck … but if Zach persisted, those stressful days were the ones when she’d scream out loud enough to shake the windows in their sills. It seemed that whatever had been bothering her now sat behind her abdomen in a tight ball. He had only to uncork her and let it out.
Sam shifted, letting her hand fall from his cock. Zach knelt on the floor and slipped her panties down her legs. He looked up at her, trying to appreciate her as he had when they’d been new. It was easy. Sam was stunning. She looked down at him with half-lidded blue eyes, a trace of red still around them. Her gaze was nothing but lust. His eyes wandered to her perfect tits, to her flat belly, to the tan-line-bound triangle below from where she still, to this day, found time to tan topless. A small patch of pubic hair greeted him. Zach put his nose against it, his mouth on her pussy. She exhaled, head drooping back.
“Say it,” he said.
“What?” Barely coherent.
“What you said earlier.”
“Fuck me,” she panted.
He slowly inhaled, drawing her in, letting the evening’s emotion transform him. This was what he loved about Sam — about a mature relationship in general. They had shared good news; aired laundry; laughed plenty. Sam had cried a little. Yet here and now, with her legs open and Zach in between them, everything could be focused into a single, visceral, full-soul experience. He could lick her, or he could experience her. All of her.
Zach closed his eyes, inhaled again, then exhaled onto Sam’s moist folds. Gently, just enough for the evaporation to tingle. She shivered; her ass twitched in anticipation. He laid his tongue flat, starting low, working his way upward. His hands drew lazy lines on the insides of her thighs. Everything was so wet, so ready. He used his fingers, stimulating her and simultaneously wiping the excess to add friction. His fingers slid inside. Sam gasped. He turned his hand palm up, hooked his fingers back, and slowly began to rub the smooth spot on the front wall of her pussy.
Above him, Sam arched her back.
He moved his tongue to her clit, circling it, rolling it under his tongue, gently nibbling. Then he flicked it back and forth, quickly, still pressing at the spot inside her. Sam’s muscles started to tense, and her ass started to contract, raising up. Already. Already she was going to cum.
Zach slowed, moving away from Sam’s clit, teasing her.
Then he went back up, nothing fancy, and focused on rolling Sam’s clit back and forth under his tongue. He pressed her G-spot with his finger, rubbing it slightly. She responded, again starting to rise. The build was incredible. Zach rose up on his knees, preparing to move with her. Sam tipped over the edge, mouthing a long series of moans, pussy gripping his fingers and bucking away from him. He stayed with her, ceasing movement after the biggest round of thrashing had passed and her sheet-gripping was finished, maintaining pressure where she seemed to want it. Her thighs pressed into his head. He slid a third finger inside her, giving Sam something to hold.
He must have been soaked when he looked up, because Sam actually laughed at him. He used an arm to wipe his face, realized he’d never taken his shirt off, and swore. Sam looked at his smudged ar
m and laughed again.
“Someone came on my shirt.”
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I came all over some guy’s face.”
“This is why we can’t have nice things.”
“Poor baby.” She made her face into a frown.
“I help someone out, and I find myself with a dirty shirt and a … ”
Sam had moved to sitting, her hands already moving down and mouth finding his. Zach hadn’t gotten all of her cum off of his face and wondered for a moment if it was gross for her to end up tasting her own lube. It didn’t seem to be a problem.
Her hand reached into the still-open fly of his boxers, freed his cock, and started to stroke it, this time paying attention, still kissing him.
“Let me see if I can make it up to you.”
“I don’t know. This was an expensive shirt.” He’d gotten it at Marshalls on clearance — a penny under 10 dollars.
“Aww.”
She pulled him up, unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it aside after ascertaining that he didn’t want to cum on it, too, for solidarity purposes. He declined, then daringly added that he wanted to cum in her mouth instead. They hadn’t done that since saying “I do,” and it seemed like a big thing to ask. But what the hell; she’d ruined his cheap shirt. Sam rolled her eyes.
“What makes you think I’m even going to suck your dick?”
Zach looked down. “Well, you have my dick in your mouth,” he declared, seeing and feeling her move into position between his legs. “That’s a rather excellent start.”
Sam gave him her coy smile, then turned from Zach’s face to his shaft. She took a few long, sucking strokes that made his ass rise to meet her, then added a hand and began moving her saliva-soaked fist up and down under her lips. She stuck just the head in her mouth, rolled her tongue around it, then held it in front of her parted lips and used her tongue to lick along its underside like a lollipop. Zach felt his balls tighten, eager to spill.
She clamped her lips over his cock, then moved both mouth and hand faster. He looked down to watch, wanting to take it all in — her mouth about to make him cum, tits hanging low, wet pussy still gleaming even from his position above her. He put his hand on her forehead, gently pushing it backward. She followed the motion, looked up.
“What?”
“I want to see your eyes.”
She smiled around his shaft, remembering. Then she slowed, taking longer licks but meeting his eyes with her big, blue ones. She moved her hand faster. She licked, sucked, licked. Then when Zach started to moan, Sam clamped her lips over his head and started to suck the entire length, hunger in her eyes.
“Okay,” he said.
She kept sucking and stroking, eyes on his.
“Okay,” he repeated, feeling pressure building below. “I’m going to cum.”
The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched up. It was almost imperceptible with her lips around his shaft, but Zach saw it. She kept moving, kept pumping, kept her mouth on him.
Then he unloaded, feeling pulse after pulse of cum shoot into Sam’s mouth. She guided him down, gripping him as he finished. She wouldn’t swallow; she’d declared that “pornish” and he’d declared that he didn’t care, which he didn’t. It was enough to watch it dribble out between her lips, running down his shaft and pooling on her slowly stroking fist. She hadn’t done it in forever. This really was a time of renewal, of new beginnings.
Sam kissed his cock, looked around with her hand and lips full of goo, then grabbed Zach’s shirt and wiped herself clean. He swore again.
“Everyone is cumming on that shirt today,” she said, tossing the shirt aside and lying beside him, her middle still shiny. “What did it do to deserve that?”
“Nothing,” said Zach. “It didn’t do anything. It’s collateral damage.”
“Maybe later,” she said, running a finger across the lips of her pussy, “we can have sex, like for real, and you can pull out and cum on it again.”
“No. If we’re doing it again, I’m cumming in your pussy.”
“What am I, your spittoon?”
“My jizz spittoon.” He looked over. “And I say that in the most affectionate way possible.”
“Of course.” At their sides, her uncreamed hand found his.
After a few minutes, his cock began to refill like a hot air balloon ready for another trip to the clouds.
“Before you get too hard,” she said, “bring that shirt over. I’m going to need something to stick between my legs for when you’re finished filling my tank.”
CHAPTER SIX
Six Years Ago
“Will you stay with me forever?” Sam asked, looking over.
She felt kind of dumb saying it, but they were lying on a blanket in a goddamned meadow under a goddamned clear, blue sky filled with a bunch of goddamned puffy, white clouds. She was even wearing a goddamned pink sundress with a matching pink headband. Only pixies and fairies were missing.
Zach chuckled, looking back. He rolled his head skyward again, looking up.
“Sure.”
“You have to promise. That’s how these things work.”
“I see. Would you like us to become blood brothers? Or blood siblings, or whatever it is that kids do?”
“No. Because then you’d be my brother. And if we’re going to be together forever, there are things I’d like us to do that I wouldn’t want to do with my brother.”
Zach laughed. His hands were laced behind his head. The sunshine on his face — and, Sam had to admit, the meadow setting — gave his usual boyish handsomeness an almost fairy tale quality. Right here, right now, the relationship’s skeptic did believe they could be together forever.
“Pinky swear, then,” he said.
Zach held up a pinky. Sam held up hers. They crossed them, clasped them, then dropped their hands back to the blanket. Sam wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say an actual swear of some sort. It made sense, and a part of her sort of wanted to. She was practical but strangely superstitious. The two tendencies waged constant war inside her, but superstitiousness won most often, and she’d go back to pick up a penny she’d seen a dozen paces earlier, hating herself for being so ridiculous. But she wasn’t going to ask her boyfriend to pinky swear again. She was 19. He was 19. They weren’t 13, kissing in his clubhouse and thinking they were committing the height of lustful transgressions. They were adults now, and they’d gone the whole nine yards. Innocence was gone.
Yet the setting begged for nostalgia, and Sam found herself recalling summers spent playing double Dutch and hopscotch, swimming in the local pool and being yelled at to not run on deck, working a pathetic lemonade stand with her enterprising brother. She felt like a little girl again, wearing a similar headband and sundress, working a paper puppet with her giggling friends to determine who would marry which boy and how many kids they’d have.
“Would you think less of me if I admitted to feeling as starry-eyed as you, since we’re lying here in this meadow?”
“I only think less of girls in the morning after having sex with them,” Zach said. “That’s how guys operate.”
“Because I do feel pretty starry-eyed. I feel about 16, at most. Know what I mean? Like back when you didn’t have to think about the future. We had a field like this near our house. Looking back, I remember it was near a junkyard and was probably less than savory, but at the time we didn’t know or care. The grass was like wheat, tall by July and only mowed at the end of each season. Also looking back, it was probably full of ticks. But we didn’t care.”
“We?”
“Me and my boyfriend. Or girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?”
“The girls and I would go there to lie in the sun. And then … ”
“Did you sunbathe topless?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Once we had boobs, going topless was required. Especially having a field like that, where nobody could see us unless they were directly above.”
“Ah, if only Google Earth
had been around,” said Zach, taking a nostalgic cue and snapping off a piece of grass to chew on.
“My boyfriend and I would go there to make out. We could hide from everyone. Better than a clubhouse.”
“Mmm.” He turned his head to look at her, his shaggy, black hair disheveled and spilling onto his forehead. “So … what? You went there to, like, screw?”
She laughed. “It felt that way. But no. Not that early.”
“Sixteen is early?”
“We lived there a long time. The guy I’m talking about was before that. We just sort of groped each other. We were totally nervous. I remember how it was more like breaking and entering than romance. Always afraid I’d get caught — not sure by who — or that I’d do something wrong.”
“Mmm,” he said again. She turned, caught his gaze.
“You’re jealous!”
“No.”
“You are! I can see it!”
He shifted like a curmudgeonly old man on a couch, mining his comfort. He grunted. “I like to pretend that you’ve never had another guy’s hands on you.”
“Well, sorry, but … ”
“Or things in you.”
“Oh, what, and you were a virgin when you came to college?”
“I see what’s about to happen,” he said. “You’re about to say I’m making a double standard. But see, I know that’s what I’m doing. And I’m cool with it. I had my fun. You have to be, like, ivory.”
“The soap?”
“I was going for the thing elephants’ tusks are made of. Clean, you know? Pure.”
Sam laughed, then hit his arm. “You’re an asshole.”
They lay for a while, looking up at the sky. She realized that Zach was genuinely bothered. It was totally hypocritical and equally adorable. Sweet, in a way. If she took it the right way, Sam could manage to be flattered. He wanted her; he wanted to have always been with her; he wanted to be hers forever and ever. It was juvenile and saccharine and (Sam was surprised to find) she loved it. There was only now; there had been no past. There was Zach, Sam, and nothing else. Forever.
Together Apart: Change is Never Easy Page 5