The little girl tilted her head and gave the question serious thought. “I think it’s kinda basic,” she said.
Hearing that from a five-year-old made Emily laugh out loud. “That’s exactly right, sweetie. Does your mom say that sometimes?”
“She says it all the time. What does it mean?”
“Oh, sort of like ‘obvious’ – like you didn’t think about it much.”
Funny thing was, she had thought about it. Soft black knit, long-sleeved with a flared skirt and buttons up the front, it was an all-occasion dress she knew her mother would like. But it sure wasn’t sexy. Well, it would have to do, she thought, fastening the thin belt at her waist. She turned back to the closet. “Okey-doke, let’s see what Mommy brought for you to wear,” she said and found the little dress Abby had hung there.
“It’s itchy and hot and I won’t wear it,” said Emma, sounding adamant.
Emily looked it over. I agree with you, kid – I wouldn’t wear it either. It was velveteen with a lace collar, the kind of thing you forced a child into for the fifteen minutes it took to get a photograph and then removed. She put it back in the closet and said, “Let’s see what else you’ve got. I’ll take the heat for you when your mom squawks.”
“But I want to wear my party shoes, okay?”
“Okay, baby. Whatever you like.”
They made it downstairs about fifteen minutes later. Joe and her father were drinking beer and shouting at the television; Emma ran over, snuggled close to her grandfather on the sofa and stuck her legs out. “Aren’t my shoes pretty?” she asked.
Emily looked at Joe, wishing she could do the exact same thing – run over, cuddle up, ask for a compliment. He smiled playfully, and with the hand away from the others, crooked his finger at her. Pretending shock, Emily headed out to the kitchen.
Chapter Four -- Thursday Afternoon
They heard car doors slam out in the driveway just before twelve-thirty and Emily got up to answer the door. “Oh, that’s just Dottie,” said her mom. “I asked her to come a little early. Girls, go say hello and send her back here. And remind your father to keep everybody else out of the kitchen.”
Her dad poked his head in the door. “Your sister’s here. Trust Herb to arrive at the two-minute warning of a tie game.”
“We know, we know, go back to the game, Dad,” Emily said. “I’ll get the door.”
The bell rang, then the unlocked door swung open and Herb’s voice boomed through the house. “Hello, hello, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!”
Emily accepted a brief hug from her aunt and a hearty slap on the back from her uncle, then walked over to Joe, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Okay, that’s my mom’s sister Dorothy, known as Dottie, going into the kitchen – you’ll like her. Very straightforward,” she told him, her voice low. “And her husband Herb, make up your own mind. I think he’s funny sometimes.”
“Abby, Abby, beautiful as ever,” her uncle said loudly. “How’s the Navy treating your husband?”
Abby looked blank. “Aaron’s not in the Navy.”
“That so? Cashiered out, I imagine – just kidding. Thought that’s why you moved to San Diego.”
Now Abby looked slightly peeved. “We live in Phoenix, Uncle Herb.”
“No kidding,” he replied, “too hot for me. Hello Mike, what’s the score?”
Emily’s dad waved a hand without looking away from the screen. “Twenty-four all, probably going to overtime.”
“Well, I’ll let you enjoy your game. Hey there, short stuff, who are you?” he said, addressing Emma, again way too loudly.
Emma shrank back against her grandfather and hid her face. “Oh well, doesn’t matter,” Herb said, shrugging. He turned to Joe, looked him up and down and stuck out his hand. “Kids – what can you do? Good to see you again, Aaron, where’s the bar?”
Grinning broadly, Joe said, “Right this way, sir, name’s Joe Chandler, by the way.”
“That so? Must be getting old. Not too old to mix a mean martini though, come along Emily, I’ll show you what I mean.”
Emily walked along behind them out to the sun porch, where someone had put out bottles of liquor and a bucket of ice on the card table. After surveying the bottles, Joe sounded fairly credible as he said, “I’m afraid there doesn’t seem to be any gin, sir,” though he almost spoiled it with a big wink at Emily. “How about an Old Fashioned? I see bitters here.”
Herb brightened up immediately. “Terrific idea, very festive. Where’s the sugar, though?”
“I’ll get it,” said Emily, heading for the kitchen.
Her aunt intercepted her before she reached the doorway. “Hello, dear,” she said, embracing Emily with the sugar bowl in her hand. “Skipped the hellos to get that godawful bean casserole in the oven. Don’t know why I make it every year. Here, Herb, here’s the sugar, don’t get drunk, I don’t want to drive on those roads and it’s only going to get—Joe?”
Oh. Of course. Of course Dottie would remember; she’d still been in town back then, and must have known the family. Emily turned to Joe, and watched his face harden to an expressionless mask with empty plastic eyes. Her aunt walked over, gave him a very brief hug and said, “Terrible, terrible thing. Don’t know why everyone was so shocked when you took such a nosedive, threw your future away. Surprised you got through it at all. Thought we’d have to hospitalize Ellie, and she was just a friend.”
The change in Joe was remarkable; Emily hadn’t been aware of the tension in his body until she saw him relax. His shoulders dropped and his fist unclenched. Her aunt’s no-nonsense, blunt honesty had that effect sometimes – once you got over the shock, her attitude was somehow comforting. At least the cards were on the table. Joe’s smile seemed genuine as he said, “Good to see you, Dottie. Been a long time.”
“I’ll say it has. Well, by the look of you, it seems you’ve stayed off drugs, so that’s one thing at least. Don’t know how you managed that, good for you.”
Now Joe laughed. “Don’t know myself, frankly.” He turned to the table, deftly assembled the drinks and handed them around. “To old times,” he said, “perfect drink for that toast.”
Her mother appeared at the kitchen door. “Oh, there you are, Emily. Will you run over with the thermometer and make sure the turkey’s almost done?”
“Sure, I’ll get my coat.” Just as a thought occurred to her, Joe said, “I could use a little fresh air, mind if I tag along?”
As they walked single file along the path between the houses that had been worn in the snow, Joe asked from behind her, “How long can this plausibly take?”
Emily, clomping along in her mother’s boots, said “Two minutes,” and heard Joe sigh.
Inside, she hung her coat on a peg by the door, slipped the boots off and headed back to the kitchen in her stocking feet. Joe didn’t follow. The voice of the football announcer drifted into the room and Joe walked in, looking…looking dangerous, Emily decided. “We have,” he said quietly, slipping his coat off, “until the end of overtime. And it had better be exciting because we’re going to say I wouldn’t leave ‘til it ended. Come here.”
The glittering, calculating look in his eyes made Emily catch her breath. He waited, watching her, until she got within reach, then put an arm around her waist and yanked her close. “I’ve decided,” he said, slowly moving his hands to the buttons of her dress, “to make the best of this situation. I think it’s going to be, what’s the word I’m looking for, amusing, shall we say, to prolong things.”
The buttons were undone to her waist; he pushed the dress off her shoulders, taking the bra straps with it, then lowered his head and began to softly kiss along the tops of her breasts. Every time his lips brushed against her skin, she felt the tip of his tongue and a seductive, sinuous current began to move through her body.
Then she felt his hands at her waist and he walked her backwards until she felt the counter behind her. “Stand here, please,” he said quietly.
His fingers hooked under the top of her pantyhose and in one smooth movement they were pulled to her ankles. “Lift,” he said, nudging her foot. “Again.”
Emily put her hands on the edge of the counter behind her, closed her eyes and let her head drop back. Her skirt was lifted again; his voice seemed to come from far away as he said, “Hold this, please.”
Opening her eyes, she saw that he was offering the gathered fabric of the front of her dress; she took it from him, holding it near her waist. He sat back a bit and Emily thought she could feel his eyes as they moved slowly from her feet to the tops of her legs. When he extended his arms, she closed her eyes again, feeling helpless. She felt the whisper of his fingertips sliding up the inside of her thighs and moaned loudly. “Ah,” he murmured, as if to himself, “you are exquisite.” And then, “Legs a little further apart, please.”
Automatically, she did as she was told. His hands moved from her thighs to slide back, up and over her ass, then inside her panties to caress the bare skin. They were withdrawn; there was a pause, then Emily heard the sound of his chair being adjusted, felt his lips at the inside of her legs, and gasped. Her legs were quivering; her knees were giving out and she started to slide downward. “No, no, no,” he said very quietly. “Here, allow me.”
The fabric was taken from her and tucked into the belt at her waist; her hands were firmly moved back to the edge of the counter behind her. “There we go,” he said gently. And then, as though there’d been no interruption, he leant over again and returned his lips to her inner thighs, his hands behind her, lightly stroking the skin at the tops of her legs.
As his mouth moved closer and closer to her sex, Emily began to whimper softly with each exhalation. When she felt his lips there, kissing her through the thin fabric of her underwear, she put her hands in his hair and heard herself whisper “please.”
As if he’d been waiting for that, her panties were lowered and Emily gasped again as her leg was lifted and placed on the chair beside him. “Oh, no,” she moaned.
A surge of heat swept through her; she had the sense she might climax without him touching her again. His hands held her tightly at the hips, stilling her; she felt utterly compliant, drained of free will. It was deliciously liberating. If he tells me to fly, she thought, I’ll probably just float away.
His soft hair brushed along the inside of her thigh, and knowing what was about to happen, she squirmed involuntarily. His hands gripped her harder; she could feel his soft breath against her over-sensitized skin. With only the tip of his tongue, he traced the cleft of the outer lips from back to front, the touch so light and faint Emily wondered if she’d imagined it.
He did it again, this time sliding the tongue tip a fraction of an inch further inside the cleft. The impulse to tighten her hold on his head and push it more firmly against her was growing – Emily lifted her hands away to grip the counter again, knowing he would resist, that he was intentionally choosing to torture her with his pace.
His hands slid down and around a bit; his fingers were spread and she felt his thumbs begin a gentle, hypnotic caress, gliding slowly back and forth in the slick moisture at the top of her inner thighs. Emily seemed to be drifting away, her consciousness narrowed to one small part of her body.
Some stealthy pressure was exerted – she could feel herself being opened and the tongue began to slip deeper into the folds, its touch still feathery light. There was either some mysterious connection between them or Joe was magically intuitive, because each time Emily thought she could no longer bear it, each time she thought oh, again, or higher, or faster or slower, every time she was about to beg, his lips and tongue would shift, gratifying her.
The telephone rang, harsh and shrill. Emily opened her eyes and watched almost without comprehension as Joe calmly stood, looked around and walked over to the phone. He looked only mildly annoyed, as if he’d been interrupted while reading or watching TV. But she saw him take a very deep breath before reaching for the receiver. His hand hovered above it for a moment; he turned to her and said “Stay exactly as you are,” and then he picked it up. “Hello.”
He listened for a moment. “Yes, well, we took a look at it and I decided it only needed ten minutes or so…we decided to just wait.” Another pause. “Oh, lots. Sometimes four at once, in a restaurant kitchen.”
The kitchen was too warm, the air over-laden with the smell of roasting meat. A silly Felix the Cat wall clock ticked loudly, its eyes and tail clicking back and forth. During Joe’s pauses, she could hear a voice from the living room announcing first and ten, second and four, third down and a mile – she wondered vaguely what had happened. Quarterback sacked, she guessed. The clock ticked on; Emily found herself unconsciously counting, then stopped.
As her senses returned, she very dimly became aware of her position – she still stood on one foot, the other on the chair, her dress unbuttoned, her skirt raised. She lifted her arm to the fabric tucked into her belt and saw Joe take a step, stretching the cord, to put his hand over hers. He shook his head, his face stern.
She put her hands back on the counter, stared straight ahead. Joe said “Five minutes,” and hung up the phone. Emily watched with strange detachment as he walked to the stove, opened the door and stuck a hand inside to gingerly wiggle a drumstick. Satisfied, he took two hotpads from the top of the stove, lifted the turkey out and turned off the oven. Without looking at her, he moved to stand at her side, lean over and crack the window behind her.
A sharp sliver of air snaked in. As Emily took a deep breath, Joe sat down, ran his hands up her thighs and said quietly, “Now where was I?”
His soft warm mouth enveloped her again and she almost screamed. With only slightly increased pressure now, his tongue slid deeper into the folds, flicked across her clitoris and away again. Oh, go back, she willed him, please go back. Instead, she felt his lips close sweetly around her there, nuzzling and sucking gently.
Slowly, gradually, every muscle below her waist tightened and strained; her breath came faster; she teetered just on the edge of orgasm, engulfed with need, yearning. And then he stopped, moved his lips away – and Emily almost screamed again. After a moment, with what seemed careful deliberation, he resumed, and now she felt a finger – no, two –begin to slide very slowly, very smoothly in and out of her vagina. As the pleasure built steadily inside her, Emily started to quiver all over.
As the shattering orgasm began, Joe continued with his mouth and she felt his fingers pressing against the wall inside her, coaxing her, urging even more from her body. She responded, shuddering again, clenching around his fingers, jerking against his mouth. She wailed, her voice rising and falling; the room spun around her and she began to lose her balance.
His other hand moved to grip her waist firmly, steadying her. Emily opened her eyes to see his head still between her legs, felt his lips bestow a few last, tender kisses. She dropped her hands to his head, ran her fingers through his hair and whispered his name. Sitting up, he looked into her eyes for a moment and Emily felt a surge of attachment run between them that she didn’t understand.
He shifted his eyes to the floor, found her panties, bent over again and guided her feet into them. Once they were on, he released her dress, then stood and solemnly began to fasten her buttons. “There is,” he said without looking up, “…there is something about you…” Leaving the thought unfinished, he moved to the sink to wash his hands and splash water on his face.
Emily remained where she was, unmoving and…unmoored, she thought. She watched as he walked around the room, opening drawers until he found a roll of foil. After covering the turkey, he returned the foil and checked again to make sure the oven was off. Emily’s breathing had slowed but she still felt an occasional twitch dee
p inside her. Her mind was almost totally blank – she felt like a marionette, waiting for him to take over again.
Gazing at the floor, she noticed a pair of pantyhose and leant to pick them up, then simply held them, as if uncertain who they belonged to or what to do next. And where were her shoes? A nap, she thought. A nap would be wonderful right now. She watched Joe put his coat on, slam the window shut, move back to the stove again. She followed and stood beside him. “Joe,” she said.
It took a moment, but he turned and looked into her eyes. “Kiss me,” she said. “Please.”
Something she couldn’t identify flashed through his eyes. He hesitated, but put his arms obediently around her waist, kissed her lightly…and then paused, his lips still touching hers. Emily heard his deep sigh; his strong arms clasped her tightly and as the kiss intensified, she felt his body relax against hers. She felt his hands move to hold the sides of her face and when he broke the kiss, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “We have to go,” he whispered.
He turned, and catching sight of her hand, took the stockings and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Absolutely not,” he said, smiling. “Go turn off the set and open the door – I’ll follow you.”
Grinning back at him, she walked away. She got her coat and boots on and opened the door; the cold air completed the job of waking her up. Joe preceded her out, carrying the turkey, and she was locking the door when it hit her. Fear – that had been fear she’d seen in his eyes when she’d asked him to kiss her.
As she plodded along behind him in her heavy boots, she decided he must be afraid she was getting in too deep, growing too attached to him. Well, she’d have to make sure he knew she was committed elsewhere, that her career was her priority. This was just a fling – a wonderful fling, but that was all. Nothing more. Right, Emily?
The problem with all this sex-is-just-sex stuff, she reflected, is that when the sex is indescribably great, it was too easy to start thinking it should be more, that it ought to attach to something, something important. Or maybe…it was just the opposite. Emily stopped walking.
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