by Harte, Roxy
“Then what?” Garrett demands.
“We’re going to make love. You’re welcome to join us. I need to reconnect to the both of you. This week has been emotionally devastating for all of us. Can you honestly say you don’t want to blow off some steam?”
“I can’t have sex in front of the babies,” I say.
“They’re asleep. They’re safe. At two days old, they couldn’t care less.”
“I feel…bad…for even wanting to.” I catch Thomas’ face between my palms, making him meet my gaze as he sits down on the bed.
Leaning nearer, Thomas whispers against my face, “Embrace your emotions, sweetheart. Feel how high they can take you.”
“I’m trying.” I look at Garrett for censure, but as Thomas unhooks the front of my caftan, it isn’t judgment I see in his expression. He lowers the flame on the lamp so that only a soft glow lights the room and starts to undress.
Garrett lies down on the other side of me.
Thomas angles up on his elbow so that he can look down at me. I feel like I still look pregnant even though my stomach has shrunk greatly. He rubs gently, with soft, teasing strokes meant to arouse. Garrett cups and strokes the breast nearest him. I know he wants to suck my nipple, but the last conversation we had on the subject was following Panda and Jako’s performance and I was adamantly against any such play.
I really enjoyed Thomas sucking my breasts outside.
“You can suck my breast if you want to.”
Garrett smiles and whispers, “Thank you,” before lowering his mouth to my nipple. He sucks so softly yet draws deeply. Need shoots down my spine to my core and I rock my hips. Thomas folds open the caftan the rest of the way. He slides down my panties, pulling the diaper away.
I panic, beseeching him with my eyes. Even though we’ve had messy sex before when I was on a period, this is different. “We can’t. I’m bleeding. A lot.”
In answer, he holds up a folded towel and slides it under my hips as he promises, “No intercourse.”
He lowers his mouth to my other nipple so that both men are nursing from my breasts. At the same time they slide their hands over my stomach gently, teasing strokes meant to drive me mad. They both roam lower, finding my clit, massaging my slick labia lips. I try not to think about the blood, but neither one of them wants me to ignore it. Thomas draws his wet fingers up my body, leaving a dark trail. I’m happy for the soft lighting. I couldn’t bear being under a spotlight.
Garrett too draws a path of blood between my thighs. He’s the realist. “If your flow gets too heavy, we quit. Right now, your arousal is helping your uterus to clear and shrink, so the slightly heavier flow is acceptable. If you were in the hospital a nurse would come in about every hour and push on your uterus for the same effect, but it wouldn’t be nearly as pleasurable.”
Nice to have a doctor in the house to explain things. My joy diminishes greatly. I don’t want to think! “Kiss each other.”
The two men kiss each other directly over my face. I stretch my neck so that my lips graze over Thomas’ stubble-covered cheek while they kiss. They turn their heads at the same time so that the three of us are kissing. Much better. This I like. I don’t know whose tongue is in my mouth or who is biting my lip. I slide my tongue between both of them, tasting each one of them together, separately, again and again. “I want to suck on your cock.”
“You need to be more specific, love. We both have cocks,” Thomas answers sarcastically.
He’s right. “I want to suck Garrett’s cock while you fuck him from behind.”
“That’s very specific.” Garrett chuckles and maneuvers into position, straddling my shoulders and holding on to the headboard. He slides his dick into my mouth.
Thomas too maneuvers around and I know that he is taking a little extra time, massaging Garrett’s anus with his fingers, stretching him, opening him.
The room smells musky.
I know when Thomas pushes his cock into Garrett’s ass. Garrett’s muscles tighten and his dick goes slightly softer. I bite down, pulling against his stiffness with my teeth, making him grow harder again with my roughness.
Between the three of us, we manage a rhythm and as Garrett’s dick bumps against the back of my throat, it is pleasurable. Sometimes I think my uvula could orgasm if given half a chance. I don’t want this to stop—ever. I love being here, with them.
Garrett comes first, pulling out so that his semen streams over my face. Thomas follows close behind, his last few strokes stronger, more forceful as he realizes Garrett has pulled out. Each thrust up Garrett’s ass forces a little more cum out of his dick. I try to catch the sweet liquid with my tongue. I love this. I love this.
“[F]ear of danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than danger itself.”
Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kitten
I awake alone in the bed and for a moment I can’t breathe I am so afraid, but then I hear Thomas’ older children playing outside and have to assume he is with them. They wouldn’t be laughing and playing if he’d disappeared in the night. Or at least I believe they’d be clinging to me if anything was wrong. Strangely, I miss the weight of their bodies pressed around me and over me like a big puppy pile.
Atso’s shrill squeal of delight comes through the open window and I am able to relax even more.
I wouldn’t let them play outside the courtyard, even though I was fairly certain there wasn’t another human being closer than a hundred miles. I wasn’t so sure about scorpions, rattlesnakes or God knew what other deadly varmint that might lie beyond the walls.
A deeper voice comes through the window. Thomas. He doesn’t sound happy.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I push the wooden shutter closer to the wall and peek behind the white lace curtain. I can barely see Thomas—a shoulder. Leaning back against the stone wall enclosure, he is facing the other direction.
Garrett comes into view and I see his is holding one of the twins. “Be reasonable. I am more than capable.”
“It isn’t your ability I question. There is no necessity.”
“I believe there is.”
Thomas pushes off the wall and as he walks he bounces. I stifle my laugh as I see his actions are keeping the other young son quiet. My breasts feel heavy already and just the thought of nursing the babies makes them tingle.
“You are not circumcising our sons.”
Circumcision? I cringe just thinking about my sons’ screams of pain.
“I forbid it.”
I grimace. If this were just a power struggle over our babies’ foreskins, that would be one thing. I really don’t think flesh is what the argument’s about. This is loss of power, pure and simple. Thomas holds all the cards—where we will live, who we will become—and in some ways it doesn’t seem fair. I feel as lost and alone as Garrett. Well, maybe not as alone as Garrett. He is, after all, the consummate showman and playboy, but I’m feeling alienated too. I can sympathize.
Very softly I hear Garrett say, “I’m circumcising the twins, Thomas. Like it or not.”
Pulling on a big, flowing caftan robe, I run for the door.
By the time I reach the courtyard, both twins have been deposited into the wooden drawer and my two men are squaring off. I clear my throat. With dark, angry expressions they turn and look at me. I scrunch my face into the tightest, sternest look I can give. “You will not quarrel in front of the children. If this is going to happen, take it into the desert.”
Looking over the wall to where the children are playing in the sand, I plaster a huge smile on my face and call, “Breakfast!”
The children come running inside. By now they know the routine. Hektor gets the bowls down from the cabinet and the cereal out of the pantry, Olympia measures powdered milk and water then shakes the container to mix it, Nikkos and Atso both reach simultaneously to be picked up. I heft one toddler on each hip, thinking they each gained ten pounds in the last few days. That or pushing two babies out
of my body really did sap all my strength.
“Ommy, ommy.” Atso presses her palms to my cheeks and pushes, making my lips pucker so that when she presses her mouth to mine it is a kiss.
“Mommy,” I say. It seems important she learn to use English words since we don’t know where we are going and Arabic may cause unwanted notice. The idea will be to blend in and not be noticed at all.
I don’t miss the look that passes between Hektor and Olympia. For a moment I fear I’ve overstepped my bounds so soon after their mother’s death. I feel horrible and fight emotion I hadn’t realized was brimming under the surface. Feeling like I am in imminent threat of hyperventilating, I want to run into the bedroom and slam the door. I want to hide from this responsibility.
I can’t.
I am the mommy now.
Moving slowly and purposefully, I put Nikkos into a high chair and watch Hektor and Olympia out of the corner of my eye. Hektor puts four bowls on the table and fills them with cereal. Olympia pours the milk, putting very little into the bowl intended for Nikkos and no milk in Atso’s. When she is finished, I set the bowl on Nikkos’ highchair tray.
I sit in one of the chairs, holding Atso, and try to get her to take one of the banana-flavored corn puffs. She pats my cheeks. “Mommy.”
Oh shit. Now she says mommy.
I meet Hektor’s gaze as he is pushing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“Aunt Celia?”
I jerk and look at Olympia.
She is twirling her spoon in her bowl and not eating. She doesn’t make eye contact even though she said my name. “Should we all call you mommy now too? Instead of Aunt Celia?”
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t even know what to think. Aside from the tears they shared with their father, they haven’t cried. I hated my father and almost had a nervous breakdown when he passed. How can they be so calm?
I watch her spoon swirling in the bowl and grab her hand to stop the motion. “Olympia?”
Her gaze meets mine, and I see her eyes are brimming with unshed tears.
“I am so sorry your mother is dead. I can never replace her in your heart.”
She comes into my arms sobbing, and I still don’t know what to say. I’ve had years of experience working as a grief counselor in my father’s parish, but nothing I experienced there prepared me for this.
“I want Mama.”
“I know, baby, I know.” I kiss her hair and she seems so very warm, not feverish, but warm. “I was only eight when my mother died.”
God, did I just say that? Why did I tell her?
She pulls back, looking at me with wide wet eyes. “Your mother died too?”
“Yes.”
Hektor leaves his seat and joins his sister. He puts his hand on my arm. Sensing something is wrong, Atso squirms in my lap, fussing. I readjust her so that she can reach the corn puffs in her bowl.
“Was your mother’s death horribly gruesome?” Hektor asks.
What child asks that question? What did Thomas tell them?
I drop my face and nod. “I was with her when she died. She had hung herself with a rope around her neck, and I tried to hold up her weight.”
Oh God. Why I am telling this?
The pain in my heart feels like I am there, as though I am the young girl again, trying and failing to save my mother. Silent tears slide down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away. “I tried to keep her alive.”
Hektor and Olympia fall into my arms as I weep silently. Atso reacts with a sudden outburst of tears, frightened, and Hektor and Olympia are suddenly sobbing too. I am definitely not getting the mother of the year award here.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I tell them, hugging them, kissing them both. “It was a very sad day the day your mother left this world. She was a good woman, a strong woman, and I know she loved you.”
Looking up, I see both Thomas and Garrett standing in the doorway between rooms. Thomas is as pale as a ghost when he turns and walks away.
“I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life.”
John 5:24
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thomas
The desert is still and silent in the early-morning heat. I ran as far as I dared, and I dare not be too far from my family. I needed to be alone.
Celia is bonding with my children and she makes it seem almost effortless, making it seem Latisha was expendable, replaceable, and I know my bitterness is unfair. This situation is not Celia’s fault, and yet she is the only one of us behaving with any dignity.
Hearing Celia reveal the secrets of her soul, I know that she knows better than any of us what my children are feeling, and she is willing to relive her pain to help them experience their own. I wish I could be as selfless.
Does pride makes me cling to the rules of manhood so that no one will see me express my sorrow? Or fear that my loved ones will not follow if they see anything less in me than strength?
Pulling off my shirt, I stand beneath the blazing sun. I need to feel the heat as a reminder I am alive. Stretching out my arms, I present myself to my God.
I want to share with him the ache ripping open my chest.
I know death intimately. I have caused a death wound and waited patiently for the last breath. I have fought to keep a fallen comrade breathing and cursed the moment I knew they were gone. I have experienced the sense of a soul leaving a body, and so I believe there is an after beyond life.
I. Ache.
My heart, my mind. There is a heaviness in my gut that hurts as badly as a bullet.
I never thought I’d grieve Latisha so deeply.
I do not know if I am better off or worse for having seen the proof. Yes, I believe her death, but after seeing, I know she was executed, a single blow separating her head from her body.
No one held her as she died.
No one heard her last breath or felt her soul fly.
I sob, thinking about that. She didn’t deserve to die thusly. If it had to be so, her murderer shouldn’t have been such a coward. He should have held her as closely as a lover. He should have experienced her death with her.
Standing, I scream. Raw. Primal. The valley echoes with my grief. I believe the ground beneath my feet rumbles. I scream until there is no more air in my lungs and I fall forward, oxygen-deprived.
“Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient; Grief makes us free; To be faithless and faithful together; As we have to be.”
D.H. Lawrence, Hymn to Priapus
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Garrett
Thomas is somewhere out in the desert running, because Lord knows he needs to stay in shape. Heaven forbid the “secret agent man” should get a little soft around his middle.
Celia. My Kitten. Covered in children, like a marsupial on the prowl, not just the twins, each attached to a nipple, but four more, surrounding her, touching her. Always touching her!
I am in a fucking desert! Surrounded by dirt! Dirt and rock and more dirt.
Life as I know it is over. Lewd Larry’s. Home. My friends. God. My friends.
Jackie.
Morgana.
George.
Enrique.
What do I do now?
I walked away once before, away from my family, my fiancée, my future medical practice, with no more promise than the promise of love. Tony. Then, I think it was more hormones than true love, and the allure of living openly with my homosexuality and depravity.
Surely my ménage means more to me now than Tony ever did then, so why was it so easy to walk away from all I’d ever known and loved?
Why is it so hard now?
I want to sneak away and call Jackie. I need to hear her voice. I need to know that she is okay. I need to tell her once more that I love her. I always have and I always will. I know I don’t have to worry about Jackie. Jackie Sandburg always was and forever will be a
survivor.
I want to call her!
Who will I ever be able to talk to who knows me half as well as she does? It is pure selfishness that would put her life at risk just to hear her voice again.
God.
Who will take care of Morgana now? Or Enrique?
Thomas assured me an agent posing as an attorney would travel to San Francisco with enough money to hide any trail we left and enough lies to trick our friends into not coming to look for us. He will get my affairs in order.
I have turned Lewd Larry’s completely over to George.
By now it is probably a done deal, signed, sealed, delivered.
Lewd Larry’s is mine! Damn it! It’s mine!
I am tired…so fucking tired…and this insanity has only just begun. How will I ever survive an entire week? Months? Years?
“Can you watch the twins a second?”
“What?” I look up at Celia, knowing she asked a question, but not having a clue what she said.
“The babies. Keep an eye on them while I take Atso to the potty. Thomas said every hour so there’s no accidents.”
I nod robotically and watch her lead Atso away by the hand. The other three children follow her.
I sit in the chair she vacated and look down at the sleeping twins. It would be so easy to circumcise them right this second. Snip. Snip. Foreskin gone. Bending over I push up a sleeper, push down a diaper. So easy—if I had a scalpel.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly and my voice comes out too high-pitched and sounding guilty. “I was seeing if he was wet.”
I can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t believe me and without a word she picks up the drawer and carries it outside to a shady corner of the courtyard. I follow her, but am stopped dead in my tracks, hearing a scream.
Celia and the children are just as alarmed.
The scream seems to go on forever.
The children hug Celia’s legs and she looks at me, fear and questions she’s afraid to ask out loud filling her eyes.