by Naomi Niles
His hand rolled me onto my hip and then parted my legs in a scissor fashion. While his finger re-entered my tunnel, his other hand pressed on the soft flesh below my anal canal and his tongue rode the divide between my cheeks. The sensation was over-powering. I wanted to push closer, but lacked a sense of direction, so I laid there and let him manipulate my body.
He murmured soft phrases as he did this, telling me that he loved me and how beautiful I was. He called me his fiery rose, closed to all else except when I bloomed open for him. He kept this steady rhythm and I felt the whirring vibration that signaled I was about to orgasm – but Sean already knew. His fingers understood my body better than I did.
He rolled me onto my back and parted my legs, pulling each upward to lie upon his shoulders. He scooted my bottom toward himself and before he entered me, his fingers rolled my clit in a circular motion. Sounds I never knew I could make came from deep within my throat. He bent low and his lips blew against my fiery bud. He blew a fine current of air upon it and held it between his lips, making bubbles that vibrated me even more. I could feel the nerve endings about to spasm.
“I want you!” I cried and at last he seemed satisfied that I was ready. As his fingers held me open, he slid himself into me. It felt as if my master had come home at last. His entrance commanded me to accept and encase him, and yet it ground into me, deeper and deeper until I felt impaled and conquered.
“Now, you’re mine,” he rasped and his hips pounded his manhood into me. I felt a punishing exultation – the culmination of all the probing and stroking he’d used to raise my suspense was now mine. I opened myself as wide as I could, using my own fingers to part my labia. I wanted nothing between the lightly rippled, veined sword with which he conquered me.
Then came the summit, that split second as you sat upon the peak and understood that the shuddering delight of orgasm was about to launch your consciousness into the stars and it would be a deadfall until the pulsing subsided. I held my breath, thereby lying in the soundless hush before it began. It was a moment to worship the creation of one another’s bodies. When the orgasm broke open, it crested between us at the same time. My hips bucked of their own accord, as did his, but in perfect, interlocked rhythm. I lost control of my limbs as I gave in to the spasms, tears of adoration and climax rolling down my cheeks.
“I love you!” I screamed and pulled his strong chest downward so that my nipples might nest there, against his heart and heat.
His own throat emitted a very raucous, male sound as he found his release, holding me to him. We pulsated together in release and when he could, he rolled to his back, pulling me atop him and encased me with the strength and warmth of his chest, arms, and strong legs over mine. I was sobbing outright at that point, not wanting to let go for fear he would leave forever. If he did, I knew that I would die. The joy of life would be forever stripped from my heart and mind.
We were sated; we were complete.
Chapter 21
New York City, probably the most exciting place in the entire world, seemed blah and colorless when compared to our little bed and breakfast. There was absolutely no question about it: I had fallen inextricably in love with Sean. He seemed to feel the same way and I had to ask myself what we were going to do about it.
I reported back to the paper with the details of what I’d found. It seemed that the orphanage committee had spent a good deal of money making themselves comfy with chic, modern offices and a private dining room. The children were certainly clean and well-fed, but there was little excitement for life in their eyes. I felt something was missing, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I recommended that the orphanage concentrate on building individual character and encouraging the children’s personal abilities. It felt as though they were just simply marking time until they were old enough to leave and while they may know their reading, writing, and arithmetic, they were essentially unprepared for the world that awaited them. I saw no excitement or anticipation for the future. They were treated more like a herd of animals, being processed for slaughter. As dismal of a thought as that may have been, I knew it would take a little effort to improve upon that. Providing computers and vocational training in addition to the basic reading and writing would’ve helped. Just because these kids didn’t have parents didn’t mean that they weren’t capable of becoming very successful individuals on their own. I felt as though the orphanage owed it to them to identify their individual strengths and encourage those.
One little boy, David, was a gifted musician. There was a cheap keyboard in the recreation room and he certainly maximized its potential. I felt as though if there were a small band or orchestra developed with the proper performance room and access to instruments, such as a full piano, that many of the other children might display talents as well. I suggested they go beyond giving them gaming consoles, that they teach them computer programming and web design. These are skills that would allow them to matriculate more easily into the job market when that time came.
The report was well received. John Warner indicated to me that the board saw no reason for me to infiltrate the orphanage more deeply. My reward for having looked into things was a healthy raise, a byline, a small office of my own at the paper if I chose to use it, but more importantly, I was to devise my own assignments. It was this last part that I really loved. While I still needed to have John Warner’s approval, I could be the architect of the topic and location. That gave me enormous sense of freedom.
I waited a day before checking in with Dad. I guess I wanted to enjoy the glow of having been with Sean for one more day before returning to dad’s supervisory attitude. I knew it would be at least another month before Sean returned to firefighting. While he certainly had the stamina to make love to me as he had, firefighting was an arduous job and he would be subjected to smoke and chemicals once again. His lungs would take a beating. In the meantime, he continued to work on my firehouse, but he had moved his sleeping quarters to the other half of my bed, at least for the time being. It had seemed ridiculous, after a weekend together, to have him downstairs.
“Hi, Dad. Just wanted to let you know that I’m back, safe and sound.”
“Good. I’m glad you called me. So was your trip successful?”
I know he had no idea of the context from which I replied, but I said, “Absolutely successful.”
“Well, that’s good. So, how are things going with Bob?”
I froze for a moment, trying to remember the last thing that I told Dad about Bob. “Oh, we’re doing just fine. We meet for lunch or dinner. Gosh, Dad, it’s only been a few days. It’s not like I’m ready to marry him or anything.”
“You know that you are all I’ve got, Gwyne. I want to stay involved in your life.”
“I get that, Dad, but I’m all grown up now and just maybe there are some things I would like to keep to myself, you know?”
“Whatever,” Dad said, and I knew his feelings were hurt. I realized I truly was the only thing left in his life. “Dad, have you considered maybe dating again?”
There was a sputtering noise at the other end of the line. I wasn’t sure if that meant it was out of the question, or perhaps he had already done so.
“Dad? Have you thought about it?”
“This really isn’t the way I wanted to talk about it, but as a matter of fact, there’s a certain lady I see from time to time.”
“Dad! That’s wonderful. I’m so happy to hear that.”
“Are you comfortable with that idea?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t want your life to be ending. You should go out and enjoy yourself; make new friends. You shouldn’t be alone. It actually makes things easier on me. I don’t feel so guilty that I don’t spend more time with you.”
“Well, she’s a good woman,” he pronounced. “Nothing like your mother, but a good woman nonetheless.”
I could tell the entire conversation was making Dad a bit uncomfortable. “The paper has given me
the reward of letting me come up with my own topics from now on. Very excited about this.”
“That’s good. I suppose that represents a sort of promotion?”
Dad had never been terribly enthusiastic about my choice of careers. Perhaps it would have been different had we lived in a small town, but in New York City, making an impact in the journalistic world meant that you had to venture into sensationalistic topics. That usually involves some level of risk, perhaps even danger. It took a lot to impress a New Yorker. “Yes, you could say that. It keeps me in my comfort zone.”
“Just see to it that it also keeps you in the safe zone, got it?”
“Got it, Dad. I love you. I’m going to go now.”
“Stay in touch, Gwyne.”
“See you, Dad.”
We disconnected and I sat back in my chair, contemplating the direction of my next journalistic piece. I was relieved the topic of Bob had been averted. The less said there, the better. I thought perhaps I should meet Dad’s girlfriend and see just how serious he was. Perhaps I could use her to throw Dad off my dating scent.
I could hear Sean downstairs, working with a power saw. I was sitting at my small desk, going through email and catching up on the news from over the weekend. It was important to me to become well known for a specific genre of writing. I thought my next category might be single women who were trying to raise their family alone. I didn’t want to come at it from the standard direction of ethnic family values, or the lack of. I wanted to spotlight women who, through no anticipated circumstance, found themselves alone. This could include widows, divorce women, even professionals who may have become pregnant and opted for their career and child over that of a man and wedding. I had to give some thought as to how I would pinpoint these women.
I asked myself where I would go to socialize if I were one of these women. My first thought was dating hangouts, but then babysitters were hard to come by and a single mother might not be able to afford one. I also had to realize that just because the idea of being married held some appeal to me, that might not be true of everyone in the targeted group.
I realized that daycares and schools were the common denominator. I began with making a list of the various income levels and the type of school these kids would likely be attending.
The private schools would be easiest to pick out. Then came the public schools in better living areas, and then I needed to look where low-income, young mothers would live who didn’t have a family or ethnic community.
I pulled up Google Earth and pinpointed parks and other outdoor entertainment areas in or near these neighborhoods. I knew that budgets may be tight and a park would be a good outing; not to mention that single mothers with single children would want them to socialize. I set up my calendar to cover these one by one. The weather would work against me as it was too cold to play outdoors yet. I wondered whether I should delay this particular series until spring arrived. As it happened, all that was answered for me.
* * *
My phone started buzzing and awakened me. I was curled next to Sean and having very erotic dreams. I didn’t want to wake up and hoped the noise, whatever it was, would stop and release me back into my slumber playland. It stopped once, and then started again. I felt my shoulder being jostled and turned my head to see Sean handing me my phone. “You’d better answer it.”
I frowned, still fighting my way back to consciousness. Reaching out, I took the phone and Sean patiently reached back and turned it right side up.
“Hello?” I murmured sleepily.
“Gwyne?” There was a man’s voice at the other end that sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Yes?” I started to sit up so I could shake the remnants of sleep.
“This is Chet.”
“Who?” Why was it so hard to figure out where I was and what was going on? A glance at the clock said it all; it was a little after 4 a.m.
“It’s Chet… from down at the firehouse?”
“Oh… oh, yes, Chet. What can I do for you?” I was trying to assimilate why Chet was calling me.
“Honey, it’s your dad. One of the boys found him on the floor in his office. We’ve taken him down to St. Mary’s.”
“Oh, my God…” I dropped the phone. I fell over the side of the bed, my arms dropping to the floor as I buried my face into the blankets and began crying. It was all so fuzzy and yet I knew Dad needed me. I couldn’t seem to think straight.
Sean must have disconnected the phone because I felt him lean over me and place it back on the nightstand. “Honey?” he asked the question.
“Dad. They found him on the floor. St. Mary’s.” It was all I could get out.
Sean rolled out of the bed and began dressing with the speed only a fireman could command. He grabbed up my clothes and stood me up against the bed like a doll, lifting my legs to slide them into my pants and pulling a sweater over my head. He grabbed my phone and slid it into my purse, passing the long strap over my head. I was mechanical and unseeing. He knew I was in shock. He leaned down and kissed me deeply. “It will be okay, honey. St. Mary’s is the best, in my opinion. They put me back together, didn’t they? C’mon, let’s go.” He pulled at my hand and I remember sort of shuffling behind him.
When we got outside, Sean hailed a cab and gave him the address. He practically picked me up and put me in the cab, and then slid in beside me.
“You can’t go – they’ll know we’re together!” I protested. I was amazed that this logic seemed to surface higher than the awareness of my dad’s condition.
“I’ll wait outside. No one will know.”
Sean was true to his word, asking the cabbie to drop us outside the emergency entrance parking garage. “I’ll be sitting over in that bus shelter; it’s heated.” He pointed to a nearby shelter where people were waiting inside an enclosed shelter. I nodded and stepped forward to trigger the automatic doors.
I followed the overhead signs directing visitors to the emergency room. I was no longer sleepy; quite the inverse. My heart was hammering. I even felt a bit dizzy with panic. What if something happens to Dad? That will leave me all alone. That can’t happen! It just can’t happen!
The woman at the reception desk wore a look of boredom. How could she do that? Didn’t she realize that people’s lives depended on what happened just beyond those doors behind her? She looked up. “Name and insurance information,” she said in an automated voice. Could she not see I was distraught? Why were people the coldest in the jobs where you needed them most?
“My father was brought in… Mr. O’Reilly?”
“Immediate family?” came her nasal voice.
“Daughter and only family,” I emphasized.
“Take a seat.”
She went on to the next person and there was no opportunity for me to argue with her. Take a seat? What did that mean?
I did as I was told. Five minutes later, I went back up to the desk and asked about him again. I was given the same response. Five minutes after that, I got testy and demanded to be taken to him. That’s when I was threatened with being escorted from the building. I sat.
I watched the clock on the wall as the second hand rolled in a complete circle, one after another; why is it the clocks in hospitals are so sterile looking?
A woman in a white coat opened the double doors to the treatment area. “O’Reilly?” she called, looking at her chart.
I leapt from my seat toward her. “I’m his daughter,” I said, practically throwing my arms around her.
“Follow me, please,” she invited without a smile.
We walked through a sterile maze of hallways, lined with gurneys upon which lay people in various stages of distress. I saw blood, vomit, and urine puddles, and by the third hallway, I had decided to forego my series on ambulance drivers. This was not the world for me.
We entered a room that contained what appeared four beds, separated by curtains. She stayed her course until we came to that fourth bed and she whipped back t
he curtain. I gasped. My dad lay there, a tube taped to his mouth, and his eyes were closed. “He’s sedated and on ventilation at the moment. We won’t bring him to consciousness until he’s no longer intubated. Too much stress on the patient.”
“What happened to him?” I blurted.
“Cardiac event.” She consulted her clipboard again and checked his vitals as I watched. “The report says he was found unresponsive and that someone administered CPR until the medics arrived.”
“He’s the chief of a fire station,” I offered, as though foolishly thinking that would get him some sort of preferential treatment.
“Yes, so it says. Good thing it happened at work. I see that he lives alone… if he’d been home, he’d be downstairs right now.”
I knew she was referring to the morgue and I wanted to slap her emotionless face. “What’s going to happen from here?” I asked her, knowing she would give me some sort of uncertain response, but at least I had to ask.
“We’re freeing up a bed for him in ICU. Waiting on some tests and when he appears to be able to breathe on his own, we’ll take out the tube and see where we stand. You can stay a few minutes, but then you need to leave and check in with the front desk. They’ll take your contact information and call you if there are any changes.”
“I can’t stay with him?” I practically shrieked.
She wasn’t happy with my attitude. “No, you may not,” she said in a schoolteacher’s voice. “This isn’t a visitor’s area and we have patients to see to. He needs rest right now and there’s nothing you can do.” She slapped the chart into the holder over his bed and stood long enough to enter information into the laptop that was mounted nearby. “Just five minutes,” she seconded her warning on her way out of the room.