The Traveling Woman

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I tried to smile when he glanced at me, but it must have looked pretty fake, because he looked away quickly.

  “What’s the worst part about being a carnie?” asked one of the older girls.

  Kes shrugged. “You get some bad mouthing, but that’s from dumb-a—from people who are ignorant and don’t understand. I’ve been told I’m trash, nothing but a dirty grifter . . .”

  The children gasped as Kes continued.

  “They think because you live in a trailer that you’re not as good as them. But some of the best people I know live in trailers their whole lives. What’s important is the way you reach out for life—not whether your home has a ten-acre backyard or wheels and the open road. I’ve been told that I make magic—that’s what I hold inside.”

  Kes’s eyes met mine.

  “But the worst part is leaving friends behind,” he said. “I always wished they could travel with me.”

  Then my third-grader, Clare Norton, raised her hand.

  “Is Miss Andersen your girlfriend?” And she dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

  Kes raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, she is. I’m a lucky guy—she’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  And he winked at me. He darn well winked at me in front of the whole school! I was going to kill him. Slowly.

  There were a few more questions, then Principal Browne announced that Kes had another demonstration that would take place on the school field. That was news to me, but I wasn’t completely surprised. I knew that he’d been cooking up something with Zef.

  We all walked outside, the children almost uncontrollable with excitement.

  I was amazed to see that the field had been transformed into a mini-arena with two small ramps in the middle. It was about the third the size of what Kes used in his usual act. A shiver went through me. I prayed that this impromptu display was safe.

  The children sat on the grass around the edges, chattering loudly. Then Zef appeared in his leathers, carrying his helmet.

  “Holy shit! Who’s hottie number two?” Mirelle hissed.

  “That’s Zef, one of the other stunt riders from the display team.”

  “Oh my God! Do they have a special laboratory where they make smokin’ hot motorcycle riders?”

  “You should see Tucker, the third guy. He’s hot, too, but he totally knows it. They all do. Tucker and Zef are both players.”

  “Good to know,” Mirelle muttered, straightening up and sticking out her boobs as Zef strolled toward Kes and Principal Browne. “Introduce us later,” she demanded.

  I leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I should tell you about Zef,” I hinted.

  “Tell me what?” she asked, her eyes following him as he stood chatting.

  “Uh, well, apart from being a player, he has a prison record.”

  Her eyes widened and she turned to stare at me.

  “You’re shitting me!” she whispered. “What did he do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But Kes is cool with him?”

  “Yes, he trusts him.”

  Mirelle narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you trust him?”

  “He’s always been straight with me,” I replied. “He says what he thinks, so yes, I trust him.”

  “Good enough,” she grinned at me. “Anyway, he’s too hot to pass up!”

  Mentally, I was rolling my eyes. She’d been warned, the rest was up to her.

  Kes disappeared, and I assumed it was to change into his leathers, as well. A familiar gnawing anxiety twisted my stomach, and I remembered how hard it was to watch Kes throwing his body fifty feet into the air and come crashing down again. It wouldn’t be that high today, but still . . .

  The children cheered when Kes and Zef came roaring onto the field, performing spins and turns, wheelies and slides.

  Then they took to the ramp, doing a pared down version of the usual show. I cringed as I saw the small ramps buckle and bend as they landed their bikes, but Kes had pitched the act perfectly between drama and humor. He and Zef had added a new trick of tossing a football to each other mid-jump. The children loved that.

  As he finished, he stood in the center of the field and pulled off his helmet, waving at the kids and teachers as they cheered for him.

  I was clapping along with everyone else when my hands fell to my sides.

  “What’s wrong?” Mirelle asked.

  I turned to stare at her.

  “Look at him in front of a crowd,” I sighed. “See how brightly he shines. This is where he belongs. I’ve always known it.”

  Mirelle turned to look at Kes.

  “Yes, I see it, too,” she said quietly.

  “I can’t keep him here, can I?”

  Mirelle looked at me sympathetically. “No, chica, it would be wrong. He’s got you, but there’s nothing else here for him.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “What does that mean for you?” she asked. “Are you going to give up on your dreams?”

  I gave her a small smile. “Maybe I need to get some new dreams.”

  Kes was in a buoyant mood when we left the school, that afternoon.

  He’d gone around with Zef, signing autographs, then they’d torn down the makeshift ramp. I was happy about that—I never wanted to see that shaky contraption again.

  Zef told me that they’d used some local contacts to put it together and had borrowed the stunt bikes, but he’d seen some cracks in the frame so it couldn’t be used again. I felt a little sick when he told me that.

  I was the only one who wasn’t high on adrenalin, but I was doing my best to fake it.

  We’d agreed to meet Zef for dinner later, and Mirelle had made sure that she was invited. But we had a couple of hours to relax first.

  “Those kids were great,” Kes said enthusiastically. “They came up with some amazing questions.”

  “Yes,” I agreed proudly. “They really enjoyed themselves and they learned a lot, too, even if they didn’t know it. I love that about teaching, when learning is fun.”

  Kes looked wistful for a moment, but then he suddenly sat upright.

  “Pull in here!”

  “What?”

  “Pull in. There’s something I want to buy.”

  I parked in a spot close to the doors of the supermarket, puzzled why Kes had to get something now. We’d gone grocery shopping the night before and were completely stocked up.

  “Won’t be long,” he said, leaping out.

  I sat in the car, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient to be home.

  Kes was back five minutes later, a brown bag under one arm.

  “What did you buy?” I asked curiously.

  “You’ll find out later,” he smiled.

  And I did. I really did.

  One minute after walking through the door at our apartment, Kes tossed my purse onto the couch, tugged off his t-shirt, kicked off his sneakers, and his jeans were on the floor before I had a chance to say a word.

  He was hard, his dick bouncing slightly as he walked toward me, his expression predatory. This wasn’t the soft, sweet side of Kes; this was the Kes who knew what he wanted and took it.

  I broke out in a sweat as my mouth dried and legs quivered.

  He shook his head, a smirk breaking through the feral gaze. “Strip.”

  “Excuse me!” I stuttered, glancing at the open curtains.

  He didn’t ask a second time. Instead, he yanked my shirt open, sending the buttons skittering in all directions. I was about to protest when his hot tongue dipped down into my cleavage.

  A long, breathy moan flowed out of me and I dug my fingers into his hair, tugging his face against my body.

  While he kissed and licked my breasts, his hands kneaded my ass, then unzipped my skirt, letting it slide to the floor along with my panties.

  I’d almost forgotten how horny Kes was after a performance. I guess it was the rush, the adrenalin, the crowd, the risk, the jumps—all of it swirling in a vortex of animalistic lust.


  He had me bent over the couch in the next second and filled me from behind, ramming into me furiously, his balls slapping against my ass. He hissed as I clenched around him, then his callused fingers were rubbing my clit, making my heart pound and my blood sing.

  Suddenly he pulled away and I cried out, then he swept me into his arms, pausing to pick up the groceries he’d bought, before carrying me into the bedroom.

  He dropped me on the bed without ceremony.

  “Wait here.”

  “Kes!” I gasped feebly.

  He strode into the kitchen and I heard him rattling the drawers and a chink as two plates knocked against each other.

  “What are you doing?” I called impatiently, rubbing my thighs together as he continued to putter around the kitchen.

  He didn’t answer, but walked back into the room with a plate of sliced strawberries and a jar of chocolate sauce, his hard cock waving at me.

  “You never eat chocolate,” I said breathlessly.

  “The chocolate is for you,” he smirked. “The strawberries are for me. Lie down.”

  I did as I was told, hoping that he’d get back to fucking me soon. But as he started to cover my body with slices of strawberries, I didn’t think that would be happening in the immediate future. My man wanted to play.

  I shivered slightly.

  “Yeah, those strawberries were refrigerated,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry—I’ll warm you up.”

  His tongue wound its way around my breast, and he sucked my nipple into his mouth along with a slice of strawberry.

  “Goddamn, that tastes good!” he groaned.

  “Kes, please!”

  “What do you need, baby?” he asked, a smirk pulling his beautiful lips upwards.

  “Chocolate!” I whined. “I need chocolate.”

  “Where do you need it?”

  My eyes dropped to his dick, and I saw him swallow.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  I pulled the jar of chocolate spread toward me, tipping some of the strawberry slices onto the bed, staining the sheets with their juice.

  Oh well.

  The lid was tight, so I passed it to Kes to unscrew.

  I kept my eyes on his as he easily opened the jar and handed it back to me. The aroma of rich dark chocolate assaulted my senses.

  Kes chuckled as I sighed with pleasure, but when I stuck my finger deep into the jar and drew out a long trail of chocolate, I swear he stopped breathing. I ran my finger over his dick, and it twitched.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  “Writing your name,” I breathed out.

  He laughed again, a rough, scratchy sound.

  Then I passed the jar to him. “Your turn to write something.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “We’re having a lesson right now?”

  I shrugged, eyeing him with challenge in my expression. “Let’s just call it taking advantage of a learning opportunity.”

  He smirked, and pushed his finger into the jar. Then with his brow creased in concentration, the tip of this tongue between his teeth, he started writing on my stomach.

  I looked down at his work.

  “You need another ‘e’ on Aimee.”

  “Yeah?”

  He dipped his finger in again and wrote the final letter.

  “Suck,” he said, holding out his hand.

  So I did.

  “Jeez, Aimee,” he gasped. “I meant my finger!”

  “Oh, my bad,” I said, before heading back to finish what I’d started.

  He rolled over, resting his hands next to his head, his eyes closed. I rolled with him, the rest of the strawberries sliding all over him and across the sheets.

  We made one hell of a mess. I didn’t care at all. And I’d bet Kes would never spell my name wrong again

  “We have to get up.”

  “Nooo,” I complained. “I’m too comfortable.”

  Kes bit my ass hard enough to leave teeth marks.

  “Aagh!” I yelled, catching him in the chest with my elbow as I lashed out. “Serves you right,” I muttered. “And stop taking chunks out of my butt!”

  “Can’t promise,” he chuckled, rubbing his chest. “Your butt tastes so good.”

  He swung out of bed, his naked body humming with energy, despite our vigorous two hours of fucking. I could only gaze at him in envy.

  “Come on, sexy butt. Get your ass in the shower.”

  I groaned as I looked at the time on my phone. I had 30 minutes before Zef would be knocking on the door, and only 45 minutes before we were meeting Mirelle at our favorite restaurant in town. And I needed to talk to Kes first.

  I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Kes was already stepping out, dripping all over the floor. He showered faster than anyone I’d ever known. When he was a kid, his grandfather had only allowed two minutes per shower because water from the RV’s tank was necessarily rationed. Old habits die hard.

  My movements were sluggish as I got ready. I felt like I was moving under water, my limbs floating, and everything had a dreamlike quality. I was slowly resolving what I knew I needed to do—working through all the steps I needed to take . . . steps toward my man, my Kes.

  I could hear the TV blasting in the living room, sudden silences intermingling with gunshots, news headlines, sports reports, as Kes flipped from channel to channel, restless, never settling on anything.

  “You ready yet, babe?” he called, as I pulled on a pair of ass-hugging jeans and a silky halter-neck top that left my back exposed.

  “Almost,” I lied.

  I started applying my makeup, careful not to poke my eye this time, while my hair-straightener heated on the bedside table. I pulled on my favorite ruby-red pumps that matched my top, while I was brushing my hair. The last touch was to make it smooth and shiny, rather than the hay bale that was currently attached to my head. Thank you, whoever invented hair serum.

  “You need to get a better cable package,” Kes complained as I walked into the living room.

  “No point.”

  He turned around to look at me, the frown on his face morphing to a hot, scorching stare as his eyes drifted up and down my body appreciatively.

  “You look . . .” he searched for the right words. “Edible. Like strawberries.”

  I gave him a twirl, shaking my hips just a little.

  He grinned, then reached out to pull me into his lap.

  “Uh-uh!” I laughed. “You can look, but you can’t touch. Looking this good takes a lot of work, you know!”

  “Fuck that,” he muttered, hauling me against him and kissing down my neck before licking a line of lava up my cleavage.

  I shivered as sweat trickled down my spine.

  “So why aren’t you getting better cable?” he asked, as his tongue buried itself between my breasts.

  I took a deep breath, my nerves vibrating.

  “Because I won’t be here.”

  He stopped and looked up. “What do you mean?”

  I stood up and moved onto the couch next to him.

  “Can we talk?”

  He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. I could see the shutters slamming down, his eyes wary and guarded.

  “I thought we were talking.”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I thought I’d go with you.”

  “For Thanksgiving?” he confirmed.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Aimee, don’t fuck with me,” he warned.

  “Yes, I want to spend Thanksgiving with you, but . . .”

  “But what?” he grit out, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  “Ugh! I’m saying this all wrong!” I yelped, frustrated with my inability to string together one of the most important sentences of my whole life.

  I rested my hand on his knee.

  “I’m saying that I want to stay with you. I want to be with you. I’m saying that I’ll give up school and travel with you.”
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  A smile hovered on Kes’s lips, but his overall expression was one of disbelief.

  “You . . . you’ll come with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “For good?”

  “For good, for bad, for whatever the road throws at us.”

  Kes shook his head.

  “No.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared at him.

  His eyes widened in panic as I put my head between my knees, trying very hard not to faint.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing my back. “I didn’t mean it like . . . shit, that came out wrong . . .”

  I sat up slowly. “You don’t want me with you?”

  Pain flickered across his face. “God, yes, of course I do. More than anything.”

  “Then why? This summer . . .”

  “Because I’ve seen you,” he said, his voice almost desperate. “I’ve seen how much your job means to you. I’ve got nothing to offer you, Aimee. No home, no certainty, and . . .”

  “Kes, you are my home.”

  My words stopped him, and for the first time he didn’t look like he was trying to fight me.

  “I mean it, Kes. The month we were apart, the whole time I was questioning my decision to leave. It hurt so badly to be away from you. I suppose if my parents’ marriage taught me anything, it was not to be the person who was left behind. So I ran, afraid that you would run first, sooner or later.”

  He shook his head, his eyes clouding.

  “I was an idiot to base anything on my parents’ messed up marriage. Yes, I love teaching, but it doesn’t have to be here in New Hampshire. I don’t have to be a classroom teacher at all—there are other ways I can contribute. But honestly, the best job in the world means nothing if I don’t wake up to you every morning.”

  Kes gripped my shoulders, staring into my eyes. “Are you sure? Be sure, Aimee.”

  “Teaching is a job. You are my life.”

  His grip on my shoulders slackened and his forehead rested against mine.

  “With me always?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Until the world stops turning.”

  His body shuddered and his arms pressed around me as he laid his head against my chest.

  I kissed the soft curls on the top of his head.

  “I love you.”

  “Love you more,” he murmured.

  The restaurant was busy when the hostess showed us to our table. Mirelle was already there, finishing a Margarita and licking the salt from her lips.