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Back Door Woman

By: pjstewart50



Friday. A mild fall evening in Texas. There it was again-the funny feeling. I'd had it off and on since I woke up this morning, and I was experiencing it again now, now when I was about to load the grill with more of what seemed a ton of food for my friends. It was not an unpleasant feeling, but an anticipatory one. I kept glancing at the redwood fence's gate, also redwood, and I avoided any excitement I could have felt if I'd allowed myself to believe that my funny feeling was associated with a possible visit from Kiefer. A visit seemed unlikely since 24 filming was in full swing, but the feeling had proven pretty sure in the past. I managed to turn the meat and get the veggies on the grill and then mumbled an offer to retrieve more beer and wine. I certainly wasn't going to answer my friend Sarah's most recent question honestly.

"What's wrong with you, P.J.," she asked. "You've been more there than here since we arrived."

"Where's there," asked David.

"Oh, don't be obtuse, David. You know that's a figure of speech."

I smiled, an attempt at normalcy, and told Sarah, hence the group, that I had simply been distracted by thinking about my upcoming lecture tour. 

"This one's different," I said. "This one takes me to two universities I've never been to in this capacity before. I get nervous, a good kind of nervous, going to new places."

A few years before, I'd gotten out of the full time classroom and begun to teach as a guest lecturer around the metroplex area and to travel to universities and colleges throughout the country delivering lectures on various pieces of literature and literary periods. I was enjoying my new lifestyle. Although it was in some ways more hectic, there was also more free time when I scheduled it. A more flexible schedule meant more chances of being free when Kiefer had a few days off.

"You'll love Pepperdine," Beth said. "I used to visit there when I was at UCLA. I had a friend there."

My friend Beth had attended UCLA in the early 70s and was very fond of recalling her days in Southern California. My friends, all of whom were also colleagues, were more than that-because I had no relatives, they were my family as well. I'd known most of them for twenty years or more, and although they knew much about me, there was much they did not know, too. They knew that I'd been in relationships, but they were long distance relationships and my friends were not privy to the details. They were, however, nosy, constantly asking me who I was seeing, what the person was like, and when they were going to meet him. They continually tried to fix me up with men. When I met Kiefer, about a decade ago, I told them about it but they didn't know whom I was talking about really until I said he was Donald Sutherland's son. "Oh, yeah, Donald, he's cool," they said.

More recently, D'Ann, my large, beautiful-souled friend, had gotten everyone interested in Kiefer because of 24. To her credit, she had been a rabid Kiefer fan for many years, but she was the newest member of the group and had not been around those many years ago when I told my story about meeting Kiefer. The others had probably neither believed nor disbelieved me because they were indifferent. Of what importance was a Kiefer Sutherland? If D'Ann only knew. She had managed over the past two years to draw Sarah, Beth, and Jennifer into a Kiefer frenzy and had even gotten David and Jared to watch more than a few Kiefer flicks. In fact, one night a month the four of us ladies get together for a "Kiefer-fest." We choose two movies, watch them in succession, get increasingly drunk as the night progresses, and discuss the merits and demerits of the movies. Hell, even Dark City gets good reviews if it's the second movie and the margaritas are good!

Beth continued her California talk. "Really, you won't feel uncomfortable at Pepperdine at all. I think you'll really like it. You'll have to look up my friend Cheryl while you're there. How long are you going to stay?"

"Oh, I'll be there for awhile. Probably a month, at least. It's not just a Pepperdine trip. I'll be doing some research for a piece I'm writing for that journal published by the U of C Press." 

Although all of my friends were quite intelligent, Beth was the most intellectual and certainly the most conservative personality of the group. Sometimes she surprised us with glimpses into her California past. Since we had known her though, we'd seen only a staid, deliberate character-steadfast, trustworthy, loyal, and suspicious for her friends. We could count on Beth to ask the right questions for us when she surmised we were on the brink of trouble. D'Ann, despite her less than modest size, was a gregarious, urbane, witty woman who could tell stories of her years in New York with abandon. Jennifer, a musical artist, was delicate and brash at the same time, and her voice held the same melodious quality as her piano performances. David, a very organized and intelligent man, was well read and able to converse decently on a number of topics. Jared, a dancer, director, and actor, was opinionated and entertaining. Sarah was just Sarah. She was a professor and a lawyer, brilliant, scattered, and giving to a fault. Sarah, Beth, D'Ann, and Jennifer all had husbands in the past-I'd never met any of the husbands. Although D'Ann had a string of men friends, the others had no known love interests. Made me wonder why they were always harping on me to find someone. David had a wonderful companion, John, with whom he'd been involved for seven years. John rarely accompanied David to our gatherings and Stacy, Jared's wife, never came. She was considerably younger than us and preferred time with their four year old son. Our ages ranged from 40 to 57, with me being somewhere close to the median at 49. We were comfortable together.

Comfortable. Yeah. That's what Kiefer and I had been from the moment we'd met. Within an hour or two, it was as if we'd known one another for ages. Ages. The difference between our ages didn't seem to matter to Kiefer at all-he seemed oblivious, in fact. It bothered me in that I worried about what his friends, or peers, or the media would say about him being with an 'old lady.' It was the reason, the only reason, I'd chosen to be a kind of back door woman. Kiefer and I were usually together here at my home, somewhere on vacation, or, not so frequently, in L.A. when I was in the area. I was thinking about my impending California trip when Beth's voice brought me back to reality.

Just as she was about to inquire more deeply into the trip, my chocolate Labrador began to whimper. He had been a puppy when Kiefer gave him to me four years ago. I was torn between calling him Young Tad, from Bright Lights, Big City, or Athos, from The Three Musketeers. Still undecided after all these years, I called him both, switching back and forth at will. Athos began to jump straight up in the air as well as whimper. Now I knew. My funny feeling had been accurate. Kiefer was here. Athos only whimpered and jumped straight up when Kiefer was near.

"What is it, Young Tad? Is Daddy here? Do you hear Daddy? Huh? Is he here?" I continued to cajole Athos as I neared his dogrun gate. I barely lifted the latch when Athos burst through and headed to the gate that led to the driveway and the detached garage at the back of my home. I continued to speak to Athos.

"Who do you hear, baby? Is it your daddy? Huh?"

Athos began to jump straight up, all four paws off the ground, head as near the top of the eight foot fence as possible. Suddenly, another head, or the top half of a head, appeared near the gate from the other side of the fence. Athos went crazy. He began to bark wildly and his tail became lethal as it wagged beyond description. The third time he jumped up, Kiefer grabbed the top of the fence and hung on, pulling his full face over the top of the fence and grinning widely at Athos. He panted like a dog, shaking his head, lolling his tongue out. Athos could no longer deal with the excitement. 

"Open the gate for Daddy, Athos. Open it."

As if he could open the heavy apparatus, Athos went up to the gate. I stepped near and swung the gate open towards me as I stepped slightly behind it. Kiefer took a few steps inside before Athos jumped up to place his front paws on Kiefer's chest, a chest clothed in a very expensive suit. The tie was missing, a tie I imagined had been wadded up and stuffed in either a pocket in the suit or a pocket in the luggage which was visible on the drive. I closed the gate. Down Kiefer and Athos went into the soft grass, rolling and rolling, yelping and panting. Athos licked Kiefer mercilessly. I don't know which of us was more excited to see Kiefer, me or Athos. My heart was pounding wildly and my stomach was flittering as if I were a teenager encountering my first love. Finally, after a few minutes of play, Kiefer spoke to Athos in a low voice. Kiefer stood and Athos remained at his feet, staring up in adoration. I certainly knew how the dog felt. Rolling in the grass with Kiefer is good. He crossed the four or five feet of distance between us spreading his arms to enfold me as he stopped a few inches from me. The arms, welcome arms, wrapped around me, one arm around my waist and one around my shoulders. Kiefer's chin rested on the top of my head. I turned my head to the right and laid my cheek on Kiefer's chest. He smelled like Athos. He did not smell strongly of cigarettes and this meant he had taken the time to shower, shampoo, brush, and change clothes before he boarded a plane to Dallas. That made me feel special. He knew how I not only hated the fact that he still smoked, but also that I hated the lingering smell. The embrace was brief. He pulled back and I turned my head around and up to look into his face.

"Hi," he said. "I was in the neighborhood. You have a date? Am I barging in where I shouldn't be?"

"Yeah," I said, sweeping my hand in an imaginary circle around my friends. "I'm dating all of these people at the same time. The bed's hardly big enough for us all when we pile in!"

"Is that right? Well, I feel sorry for 'em. Even if there are six of 'em, they probably have a hard time keeping up with you, eh?" He grinned and I made a mock shocked face.

Kiefer turned to the group. I turned too. I hadn't given anything or anyone a thought since I realized Kiefer was here. Poor D'Ann was stunned. Her jaw was slack and her eyes glazed. I didn't have time to observe the others closely before Kiefer started introducing himself. He began on the left of the semicircle, saying hello first to David then Jared who were both now standing. Next, D'Ann, frozen in her seat, was regaled with a throaty hello and a comment about her beautiful red hair. I was sure she'd gotten off right there in her chair after that-perhaps even before! Kiefer then shook hands with Beth, commenting on the deep blue of her eyes, then with Jennifer, taking both of her hands into his and turning them over.

"You are a musician?"

"Y-y-yes," Jennifer stuttered. 

"You have beautiful hands."

Kiefer finally turned to Sarah who wore a grin the size of her heart.

"Oh, it's so good to meet you," she cried. "You are so GOR-geous!"

Sarah's accent on the first syllable of 'gorgeous' was emphatic and elicited a bashful head nod from Kiefer. He mumbled a "thanks" and turned to me.

"Am I here at a bad time?" Kiefer's accent on 'am' told me he was seriously inquiring about his unannounced appearance.

"Of course not, pumpkin. I love it when you visit."

This time as he approached me I was calmer, and I could study his face long enough to figure out why he had shown up. He was tired. Physically and emotionally. The dark circles under the eyes and the diminished sparkle in the eyes were telltale signs. Hmmm. Tired. No delicious roll in the hay tonight. I should have been Athos. At least I would have gotten that roll in the grass. Oh, well. There was always tomorrow after a good night's rest and a meal or two. It was good just to be near him. He reached my side, turned me towards him, and placed his arms around my waist, saying he wanted 'chugar,' Kiefer's baby talk corruption of 'sugar.' I gladly supplied the requested kisses, pulling his head down and showering his face and hair with heartfelt kisses. If Kiefer had perfected anything in the world, it was kissing, and I wanted him to kiss me. After I had complied with his request, Kiefer moved his right arm up from my waist and tenderly cupped the left side of my face with his hand. He then tilted his head to his left and bent forward, nearing my lips with his. He kissed my bottom lip, then the top, switching back and forth, slightly sucking on them and sending all kinds of signals to all kinds of places within me. Damn that he was so tired. This was going to be hard, no pun intended. Kiefer nibbled noisily on my lips then my right ear. He pulled away, but his left hand remained on the right side of my face.

"I've missed you. It's good to be here." He then moved to the chaise lounge I had previously occupied and draped himself elegantly on it.

I continued to tingle with excitement as I replied, "I've missed you. I'm glad you're here." I paused, then continued. "We're havin' BBQ-beef, pork, and chicken-and grilled veggies. It'll be ready soon. What'll you have to drink? Beer? Wine? Herbal tea? Water? Tea? Coke? What?"

"Hmmm. What are you havin'?"

"Well, that doesn't make any difference. What do you want?"

"I think I could use some of that stuff you give me to calm me down, that, what kind of tea?"

"Chamomile tea. Comin' right up." I turned, walked around the end of the outdoor combination cooking island and bar, and headed to the French doors that led into the kitchen. I called over my shoulder for my friends to treat Kiefer decently. They laughed nervously, but I knew Kiefer would place them all at ease. Sure enough, by the time I returned from the kitchen with Kiefer's hot tea, D'Ann was in full swing doing her best, and they were good, Kiefer impressions. She probably knew more of his dialogue than he did. He was laughing hysterically as she did her best Pally LaMarr whine.

"I don't whine like that," Kiefer knowingly whined.

Then D'Ann cracked up, followed by the rest of us. We knew what we had to do after his leading line. The most watched of our DVDs was Truth Or Consequences, NM. We looked at one another and on cue all seven of us appropriately whined in our Curtis Freley voice, "I dunno why everybody's yellin' at me. I thought it went pretty well."

It was Kiefer's turn to crack up. I had stopped behind the island and now handed the cup of tea over the raised bar section at the front of the island as Kiefer stood to receive it. On my side of the island structure, at a comfortable waist height, was the grill, a fridge, a double sink, and a three burner gas cooktop. Kiefer smiled as he took the cup and returned to the lounge. I busied myself for the next quarter of an hour with turning meat and veggies as Kiefer drank his tea and he and my friends chatted. He and Beth had started a rather precarious and potentially dangerous dialogue about spirituality and organized religion. Because the bar was high enough that I was unable to see whether Kiefer had finished his tea, I stood on tiptoes and leaned forward to peer into his cup. 

"Whatcha need, babe?" Kiefer asked.

"I was just checkin' to see if you needed more tea. Would you like some?"

"I'll get it. Kettle on?"

"Uh huh. The tea's on the counter. But I'll be happy to get it."

"I know, I know. But I need to get my luggage inside and change into something a little more suitable for barbecue. Excuse me for a minute," Kiefer said to anyone listening.

Jared stood up and headed to the gate, saying he'd get Kiefer's luggage and set it in the backdoor. Kiefer thanked him and said he'd meet Jared at the door. They both disappeared and a moment or two later, Jared returned to the semicircle.

Jared shook his head. "What is he doing here, P.?"

Jared fell in to his nickname for me, P, as he asked the question.

"I told y'all years ago that I'd met Kiefer-in Montana. You just weren't listenin'. And why he's here is because he's tired. I can tell that much from lookin' and listenin'."

"Tired of what?" David asked, not sarcastically, but incredulously. "Hollywood? Money? Fame? Beautiful women? Beautiful men? Oh, tell me not beautiful men, please."

"Well," I replied. "I don't know about the men, but I do know that a lot of that other stuff gets to him after awhile. He works like crazy, y'know. Long hours, long weeks."

Sarah sighed. "He does look tired. GOR-geous, but tired."

D'Ann was stupefied again. To herself more than anyone else, she mumbled, "Omigod. I've been laughing with Kiefer Sutherland." Then she riveted me with her eyes. "You've known him. All along. Why didn't you tell me? How did you meet him? When? Where?" Her questions tumbled out all at once. Then she began mumbling to herself again. "Omigod. I did a Kiefer impersonation with him watching. Omigod."

"It's ok, D'Ann. He loved it. He really laughed. You made him laugh and that makes him feel better. And the how, when, where questions are a whole other story."

All six pairs of eyes were on me, waiting for a more complete explanation than that. They were not to have it though.

Kiefer rarely moved slowly. He hadn't wasted any time changing clothes or refilling his teacup. He emerged from the French doors with his cup. D'Ann audibly choked. Sarah sucked in her breath. I'm not sure what Beth and Jennifer did. I think I even heard David whisper a faint "damn" under his breath. Why? Kiefer looked maddeningly attractive. Yes, the gazillion dollar suit was stunning. But the faded jeans and plain white t-shirt did even more for him. No shoes-bare feet. Mussed hair. His look begged for him to be cuddled and babied.

Baby," I said. "Do you need anything else? We'll be eating pretty soon."

"Nah. I think I'll sit here by you though-if you don't mind."

He pulled a stray barstool nearer me at my post behind the island.

"Of course, I don't mind."

I planted a kiss on his forehead. He grinned and resumed his conversation with Beth about spirituality. 

As I checked the food again, I glanced down at Kiefer. The tight jeans revealed a hard on. Hmmm. Tired but not that tired, perhaps. He continued to talk, well, agreeably disagree, with Beth. They were having a rather spirited conversation. He glanced at me and noticed that I had been eyeing his crotch. He winked his right eye at me and reached his right hand to the back of my left leg right at the area behind my knee. He slowly moved the hand up to cup my left buttocks. Yeah. I was excited. I made an obvious point of leaning on my elbows, but I allowed my left hand to wander down to the bulge in Kiefer's jeans. I simply couldn't help myself. I managed to keep my head at about the same height, the height that those on the other side of the bar would see, moved myself to the left, and undid Kiefer's jeans with my left hand and a little help from the right one.

His penis was freed from the jeans-no underwear. I loved Kiefer's cock. He was circumcised, smooth, and, at this time, he was as hard and curved as a steel boomerang. I began to manually stimulate him with my left hand, but in my mind I was tasting him. He carried on the conversation, now expanded to the others as well, as if nothing were happening behind the bar. The bar stool allowed Kiefer's upper chest and head to be viewed by those before us. I continued to stimulate him, attentively screening his facial and body language to gauge when I needed to change tactics. I kept up my end of the game by moving my gaze from Kiefer to the appropriate respondent as the conversation continued. Soon, I knew it was near time for Kiefer to explode. I moved the metal spatula resting on the island's surface nearer me with my right hand and at the appropriate time noisily knocked it off the counter. Murmuring "Damn" and bending down ostensibly to retrieve the spatula, I quickly moved to Kiefer's cock. I hungrily took him into my mouth. I engulfed him near the penultimate moment. He grasped the edge of the bar's countertop and shuddered, imperceptibly to those on the other side of the bar, but noticeably to me as I greedily sucked the cum into my hot mouth. At the same time, I moved my right hand down into the jeans and onto Kiefer's balls. I gently massaged them as he filled my mouth with his cum. After draining him, I carefully disengaged my hands and mouth from that cock I loved so well. Kiefer shifted his body to the front of the barstool, resting his weight on the balls of his feet and stretching a bit, but he kept listening attentively to the conversation, thankfully being carried at the moment by David. Kiefer removed his right hand from the countertop and caressed the top of my head. I looked up at him as he glanced down. I silently giggled and then, for his benefit, completed a highly exaggerated swallowing motion as I prepared to stand. 


Back Door Woman Ch. 06



He swallowed, hard. Swallowed down the evil, the pain, the bitterness. Forced them down into his throat, on down through his digestive system, and beyond--down to his center. Keeping them there. Hoarding them. When they threatened to escape, which was infrequently, he did what he had to do.

If anyone had seen him, and a few did, they would not be able to give an accurate report later. Nondescript, they'd say. Average. Ball cap. Dark glasses. Didn't get a good look.

Today, he said to himself over and over. And this thought tore a hole in the ugly part of his heart, kept it bleeding. Lunch-time halls near-empty. She'd be in her office, that book-filled, scent-filled office. There in her heels, the high ones, the hair done-up on top.

End of the hall. Left side. Office door slightly ajar. He swiftly eased in, quietly closed the door. There. There on the ladder with her hands on a book. Two steps up. The dress was not tight, but the fabric, soft and thin, clung to her curves. Blue. Some kind of blue. The dress. And he knew. Knew there was nakedness beneath the thinness. The rump just below eye-level, eyes that now blinked, coldly, like some deep-oceaned beast's. Part it, part it, part it. The rump. Huge desk partially blocking his access to it. The rump. To her. Side-step.

She smiled at the thought of lending the well-loved book to one of her students. The young lady had expressed quite an interest in Dostoevsky. Crime and Punishment. She loved it when she could help a student by lending books--sharing the wealth, sharing the experience. She steadied herself as she felt a sudden dizziness and glanced below, her gaze resting for a mere second on her smiling face reflected in the small mirror two shelves down. Her vanity mirror, her colleagues teasingly called it. The mirror into which she quickly looked before leaving her office and heading for class. Her head again raised and she hummed lightly as she finally spotted the desired book and reached to pull it down. 

She'd not had time to turn fully around when he roughly grabbed her. His left arm went up and in front of her, left hand clamped backward over her right shoulder, the underside of his forearm tightly holding her diagonally across the chest like a fierce beauty-pageant sash. 

The right hand came around and in between her upper thighs, grabbing her right one. His fingers dug into the soft flesh through the dress's fabric as he assured a steady grip. In a blink she was lifted away from the ladder, held like a prized pig, her feet, well, the left foot anyway, kicking backward in protest, the sharp heel finding his flesh at least once. Evidence of the contact came in the form of a grunt and a sharp tightening of the grip around her body, enough to make her cough up air and gasp. 

Goddammit, he thought. Fuckin' shin. Probably bleeding. Goddammit that hurts.

Unceremoniously, in a dizzying move, he whirled himself, her with him, around to the left away from the desk. Somehow, before her left foot could again inflict pain, she found herself facing the front of her desk, held straight up, staring at her empty chair and the rows and rows of books held in the cases forming an L-shape around two walls of the small room. Books that didn't, couldn't, help her now. So many words. Crime and Punishment. War and Peace. Crime. Peace. So many. Words. Useless in the face of the force now invading the room. Her room. Her space. Space. And what of that space. The one within.

He slammed the blue dress down on the desk. Pretty blue. He hated blue. Hated color. The world was grey.

Flung forcefully down, her body was now mashed from the head to just below the waist into the desk's surface. As the wiry left arm slipped from beneath her the other joined it as the hands scooped up both of her wrists and jerked them first behind her, then up. The left hand held the struggling wrists, clamping them between her shoulder blades. The clenched hand, fingertips dug into her skin, jammed both her wrists and her body down.

Take that, he thought. Hope it hurts like the shin. And with that thought, the pressure increased between her shoulder bones and the air escaped her again. Beach balls came to his mind. Squashing air out of beach balls after a day in the sand.

The right hand returned its grip on the inner thigh, a grip now loosened since the left hand did its job so well. It traveled now down the outer right thigh, down to the hem of the dress, then shot its way between her legs, legs beginning to close around his arm.

No. No, he thought. You will not shut yourself to me. The pointed toe of his right boot kicked her right leg out to the side and held it there, held her open for his assault. Her left leg scrambled to close on his arm once again, but it was thwarted and pinioned as its sister-leg only seconds before. Ahhh. Now. Spread wide for me. Hold wide.

Three fingers violently rammed into her sacred space and roughly sawed time to some unheard rhythm. Unheard but felt. The body beneath him tensed and jerked. Jerked but was silent. Harder down he shoved with the left hand on the back. Farther up with the fingers of the right. Feel me. Know that I am here. Her head twitched as up inside her he spread his fingers wide, but he slammed hard on her wrists, expunging his pain. 

Her face was turned to the right, left cheek resting near the edge of the desk. She had tried to lift her head, but was rewarded with a rib-bruising thrust of the hand in her back. What did she see? Focus. The spine of Madame Bovary. Oh, god. But she had no spine. Emma Bovary. Have I sunk to that? To Emma Bovary? Where was the boat-shaped bed? No, no. Surely this meant more than that. More than that surely.

Mechanically she took stock of her physical position. Breasts smashed to the desk, the items strewn on its surface now gouging her flesh. Familiar objects. Staple-puller under the front of her right shoulder. Her favorite writing pen lengthwise along her left-side ribs. Familiar objects. Like the fingers, also gouging her flesh, but on the inside.

She could have closed her eyes to it all. But they remained open. Open and aware. Yes, yes. There it was. She could feel it. The large desktop calendar beneath her. Left nipple near Friday, though upside down. Friday, not the nipple. Yes. Annual physical with Dr. Winslow on Friday. Right nipple? Where? About Sunday, she thought. Yes. Right nipple at least as far as Sunday. And what of that Sunday? Sunday last? Had she foreseen what would happen between then and Friday? What would happen today? Now?

Her mind struggled to bring the whirling thoughts to bay, but Yeats had his way.

 A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. 

The bile flowed up and then down to his fingers. He could feel it, the bile, feel it corrupting them, the fingers, feel it as he shoved it into her, defiled her. He wanted her to feel it, feel his bile. His stabs grew more powerful. He watched as her eyes got larger, but did not close. He drove his upper body down on top of hers, his chin digging into her upturned ear as he pinned her savagely to the hard surface.

 How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
How can anybody, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies? 

Could I have known she thought. Would it have mattered. Would it have changed anything. And she felt the strange heart. Thudding there. Yes, punish me, she thought.

Too close. Too close, he thought. Felt her heartbeat. Felt her invitation. Abruptly, he stood again, continuing her assault, his absolution. 

 So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop? 

And who's to know but Leda whether or not she smiled an inward smile when the swan who'd cooked her goose flew away.

There is a certain kind of power in submission, she thought.

She thought. Not Leda. Well, maybe Leda did, too, but who'd ever know for sure. But Leda. Maybe Zeus.

Zeus he could've been, so near her core. Without warning, the fingers sucked out of her cavity as he roughly withdrew them, their absence leaving her both distraught and relieved. 

The bile would not stay put. It churned within and begged egress. The now sloppy-wet right hand came to rest on the hair piled on her head. The fingers curled into it like tiny snakes, slithered in, then yanked her head back, left hand still stifling the flesh below. I am not through he thought. Not through with you. But he did not know who was the you.

And her mind wandered to it. The first time like this. In the barn in Montana. She was frightened the first time. Truly. Later she understood. But not the first. He'd shoved her, face down, hard onto a square bale of hay, the bale held together like magic with twisted baling wire. One of the twisted ends stabbed into her soft flesh under her right breast, bled, healed, sort of. It left a tiny scar, a scar she somewhat proudly bore to this day.

The needle-like straw had punished her skin, poking and scratching as the man she thought she knew but didn't assaulted her from behind, his hand wrapped around her hair, pulling up her head as it did now. He rode her for a long time. Not just in her mind. It wasn't seemingly. It really was a very long time. And it led nowhere. The ride. It didn't even lead to his physical release. He simply pumped into her for so long that he eventually had nothing with which to pump any longer. She'd been apprehensive for days after this. Frightened that she'd misjudged him far more than she thought imaginable. But something made her wait. Stay. Stay until she knew. So long ago.

You, he thought as he looked at the blue. He picked her up roughly by her hair and the captive wrists, making her utter the first sound he'd heard. He lifted her, swinging her body near the door, slammed her into the side of the bookcase along the wall forming the shorter length of the sideways "L." 

You will know that I am here, he silently commanded. Remember. The right hand and left hand met again in the middle of her back, separating her wrists. Up, way up over her head, near the top of the bookcase. Stretch her out. Hang her. The left hand trapped the wrists together and the right reached down to his fly. Release. Release it and put it to its use.

Her fingertips alone escaped his grip. Free, they curled over the top edge of the bookcase and held on tight. The grip provided her a false sense of independence, of freedom from his force.

The left cheek was still plastered to a wooden surface, only a different one. She suddenly laughed inside. No, no. Don't let him hear. But inside. Only one position in the entire room he could move to and be reflected in the vanity mirror. Not full on. But more than profile. And he'd chosen it. There was a Zeus. Maybe he wanted to be seen. But she doubted it. If he had, he wouldn't hide behind her back. Chicken shit. Tortured one. And she watched his every reflected move, watched as if it happened to someone else, to the other her, the her of long ago.

The right hand again went to the hem of the dress, pulled it up. The right leg went to the inside of hers and pushed it out. Knees bent, for both leverage and alignment, his right hand shoved his now-erect bile into her. Her body pinioned now, his right hand jammed lengthwise between the hard wooden surface and her pelvic bones, her feet leaving the floor as he stood, his body now to its full height. He held her brutally. Did not allow her to move. Not allow her the cushion of movement to soften the hammering blows. 

She was crudely restrained. And so he began his slow and deliberate battering. And her feet dangled, toe-tips of the high-heels barely scraped the carpet's surface, forward and back, forward and back.

He established a three-point attack. He rammed into her up to the hilt, then performed a perfunctory stabbing movement at the top to penetrate to her heart, then he pulled out to near the rim of the head of his hardness. In time, the three movements synchronized with their individual thoughts. In to the hilt, "de-," extra shove, "-serve," out to the rim, "this," she thought. In to the hilt, "go," extra shove, "to," out to the rim, "hell," he thought. And they kept up this dangerous game, each in their own world.

And, oh, she thought. The reflection in the mirrored glass! 

She saw clearly his face. Saw it devoid of emotion--stoic, methodic, plunging out its cry into her being. Knew this had nothing to do with sex, nothing to do with physical release. Felt him moan into her with each stab.

Only she knew, he thought, the meaning of this lurid dance. Only she understood. Lost to anyone else. Misinterpreted. Deciphered wrongly as sexual aggression, or worse. But not her.

She heard the cry. Had known it long.

And this was it. Well, a large part, she thought. Why she put up with him. Why she struggled and won. Endured the separation, the indignity of being the never-seen-one, the backdoor woman. Oh, no. Don't lay that on him. You chose it. You chose it. And you're sick, she thought to herself of herself. Need help. You live for these visits. No. Exist. Exist until these visits and then you live for the moments they last. Are alive. No. Surely I'm not that sick, she rationalized. No. And nausea, the nausea of self-revelation, heaved through her body, making her shudder inside more than his heaving in and out of her from behind.

He knowingly bruised her. Punishing her for things others had done. Punishing her for what she was and he was not. Punishing her for his own weakness and her strength, her weakness and his force. Punishing her because he knew he could. Punishing himself as he did it.

And she continued to scan the face, the reflected one. Still, it held no emotion. Nothing. Passivity. Passive aggression. But she knew when he was about to be released. Knew not by his face, but by feel. He did not feel it, but she did. That which was burying itself deep within her, the stiffened bile, shuddered, pulsed, strove to end its own oppression. But not he. He continued to pound, but the bile was let loose in spite of him. Let loose inside her. She prayed. For her. For him. Thy kingdom come, and he did, thy will be done, and it was, on earth as it is in my sacred space.

He was aware of a difference. What was it? Oh, yes. It was over. Over now. Purged. Exonerated. And her? She was different, too. Not limp before him. Unyielding, not soft. Heedless of this perception, he pressed against her. Gently now.

You're disgusting, she thought. Her. Not him. You know it, admit it, how this somehow is right. Deserved. And she felt ashamed. Not embarrassed. Ashamed. Slut. Not ashamed in front of him. But herself. How can you look in that mirror when he's gone. You allow him. Want him to do this to you. And she finally closed her eyes. In disgust.

So far away, he thought. Not near. Why? But no. She must feel hate. She hasn't relented, turned to me quickly as usually she does. Don't blame her, he considered. She was dry. Dry when I drove my fingers into her, he vividly recalled. Must've hurt like hell. But she didn't whimper. Didn't protest. And in seconds she'd been wet, wet as he'd ever felt her. He was somewhat sick, but the feeling subsided as the seconds happily skipped their way into the future.

She thought how disgusting she was to enjoy in some large measure his attack. He thought to himself how disgusting he was in some small part to enjoy it--this coarse treatment of her. So in their disgust of selves, not each other, they silently stood as close as hand in glove. And it was near palpable. His sickening disgust of what he'd just done, her sickening enjoyment of it, the disgust and enjoyment melding them together for full minutes, melding them through the awful attraction of these opposite forces. 

As his body pressed softly to hers, she talked to herself. Talked of how revolting she was. Silently asked him how he could touch her, invade her, knowing her shame. But soon she gave it up.

Come back, he said silently to her. Come back. Then he, too, gave up.

Silence. Stillness. In silent stillness lay. Keeping their flocks by night. And his familiar lips touched her right ear, whispered the monosyallabic question, the only word uttered thus far.

"Lunch?"

She shook her head no.

"Two-thirty meeting," she whispered. "Home at four-thirty."

He released her, backed away, taking her flesh and most of her soul with him. And he was gone, the soft clicking of the door's latch signaling his departure.

And again Yeats snickered in her ear.

 Before the indifferent beak could let her drop? 

But drop she did not. No. She stood clinging yet to the top edge of the bookcase, supplicating, asking it for strength, willing her legs to hold her upright.

*****

Four-thirty-three. She pulled her car up to the streetside mailbox in front of her home and pulled open its little door. From out of the gaping black hole came envelopes of varying sizes, envelopes representing those who in some way vied for her attention, calling her, beckoning her from possible doom.

She pulled up into the drive. No rental car. No matter. Sometimes he used a cab. She exited the car, briefcase handle and letters tucked into her right hand. Handbag strap slung over the left shoulder and keys in the left fingers. She approached and reached the backdoor. Backdoor. Backdoor. Backdoor woman. She placed the key in the lock and turned it, turned it to either joy or despair.

She'd hoped, really thought, he'd be there. Usually, he was. But he was not this time. His presence painfully absent. The ring and baby fingers relaxed and the briefcase dropped. The keys and handbag fell. Only the connection with the outer world, the envelopes, stayed in her hands. She stood, motionless, breath slowly escaping her now tight lungs, lungs constricted with an indescribable aching. A blink of the eyelids. Another. A biting of the lips. 

Remind me, she thought to herself, remind me again why I do this? But the reminder throbbed, constantly, as it had the last three hours, between her thighs. Physically, the mauling would be with her for days, a soreness slowly to fade like the smile of the Cheshire cat. But the real insides. The ones where wear and tear didn't so quickly subside, that was what she dreaded. Once again. Once again.


*****

To the airport. The rental car's radio tuned to its last passenger's tastes. His eyes focused on the road. Intently, he strained to understand Kurt Cobain's honeyed words.

 She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak
I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black 

He slammed on the brakes. Idiot. Signal when you change lanes.

 Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet
Cut myself on angel's hair and baby's breath
Broken hymen of your highness I'm left black
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back 

*****

In an isolated front-row first-class seat he gratefully swallowed the last bit of expensive pinot noir. His eyes closed and in seconds he slept, peacefully.

*****

Her eyes on the floor beneath her, she repeated her mantra "Let it be." Finally raising her head, holding it high, she looked before her at the kitchen he'd bought, biting her lip again. Once. Twice. Another blink. 

Robot-like, she made her way the few steps to the kitchen table, tossing the mail down and watching it scatter like falling dominoes. Hot liquid escaped the inner corners of her eyes and suddenly blurred her vision. She sank into the chair, leaning closer to make out the return addresses, the tears scorching her cheeks as they rolled down and softly splattered the nearest envelopes, obliterating that which only this morning had been so clear. The anguished tears were ceaseless, wracking her frame, driving her down--down onto, into, the floor. 




Back Door Woman Ch. 06



She swallowed, hard. Swallowed down the evil, the pain, the bitterness. Forced them down into her throat, on down through her digestive system, and beyond--down to her center. Keeping them there. Hoarding them. When they threatened to escape, which was infrequently, she did not know what to do. 



Back Door Woman: Sat. PM Ch. 01



After a leisurely, wonderful breakfast, Kiefer spent most of the late morning and early afternoon napping. He'd wake up from time to time for a pee and a drink, but mostly he lazily snoozed. I didn't care. He sprawled on the large sofa in my den, and because it faced the kitchen, I was able to glimpse him frequently as I moved alternately between the kitchen and the breakfast table where my laptop roosted. It was so good to have him here. Sometimes the unexpected visits are the best.

Around 3:00 p.m., Kiefer rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen where I was finishing preparation of our evening meal--pot roast and vegetables. When the time came, I'd also prepare homemade rolls. Kiefer usually took salad duty. Although I had consumed a huge amount of the food that Kiefer had prepared earlier, his morning disinterest in food had caused him to eat sparsely at breakfast. Because of this, I'd already prepared a turkey sandwich for him to keep him from starving before dinner. When he reached the kitchen, he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my left shoulder.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Choppin' cotton. Wha' choo doin'?"

He unwound his arms and moved away, turning his back to the counter near the sink so he could see my face.

"What the hell is chopping cotton? Is that one of those Southern things? Is that kin to spitting cotton? I've heard you say that before. What's all this cotton shit?"

"Oh, Kiefer. Give me a break. I don't get all your Canuck humor either. God. I can't even believe you ARE a Canuck!"

"Well, technically I'm not, you know."

"Close enough, love. Close enough."

I completed sealing the foil around the dish that held the roast and vegetables and turned to face Kiefer. 

"You hungry? I fixed you a sandwich. It's in the fridge."

"And what's a fridge?"

"It's where your sandwich is so you'd better figure it out if you're hungry."

I turned around to move the dish into one of the ovens. Thanks to Kiefer, I now had three ovens. When I'd mentioned remodeling my kitchen a couple of years ago, he'd jumped on the bandwagon, offering suggestions and placing requests. I'd told him to slow down on his requests because I had a budget I was sticking to. He told me the remodel was my birthday present. I told him I didn't want a birthday present that cost that much. He told me to fuck off. I got the remodel.

I only used the third oven at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Kiefer, however, used all three when he stayed here more than a couple of days. He was a really good cook, but he cooked gourmet stuff. I was a plain old Southern cook. Oddly, he liked my cooking. I couldn't imagine him liking all of the relatively heavy fare since he cooked such delicate stuff, but he did. In fact, between Thanksgiving and Christmas in Canada, he always made his way down here for a Southern Thanksgiving meal. He loved the sticky, moist, highly seasoned dressing as opposed to the familiar stuffing he had grown up with. Candied sweet potatoes? He ate his weight in them. But his weight was down, now. Damn that Jack Bauer's heroin habit. Too skinny. I'd been calling him Barney Fife for months.

"Maybe you'd better skip the sandwich, Barney. You wouldn't want to gain an ounce."

"Oh, fuck you. I don't look like Barney Fife." He had already opened the refrigerator door and was pulling out the sandwich.

"Where's your bullet, Barney?" I teased. "Don't lose it. Andy will be pissed."

He ignored me. He moved out of the kitchen and around to the bar separating the kitchen and den where he perched on a barstool and began to eat his sandwich.

Pot roast safely tucked in one of the ovens, I moved to the sink to rinse the few dishes I'd messed up while preparing the evening meal and transferred them to the dishwasher. Oh. One of the two dishwashers that I now had. Wonder how that happened. Two dishwashers. Absurd. Two freakin' dishwashers. Kiefer had three in his kitchen!

"How's the sandwich? O.K.? You want some chips? A pickle?"

"Nah. No chips. I'll take a pickle, though, if it's a dill."

"Sure. I made them this summer. I'll get the jar out of the fridge. You know. That thing where your sandwich was."

He eyed me darkly. He even growled, I think.

I retrieved the pickles from the refrigerator, unscrewed the band and removed the lid, and passed the jar and a fork up to the bar. He plucked a pickle from the jar and took a huge bite.

"God, I love your pickles. You know, I'm out of them at home," he hinted.

"Too bad. Have to come here for your pickle fix."

I moved to the breakfast table to finish the review I was working on. Only about a half hour more and I'd be done. I glanced up to see Kiefer finishing his sandwich and fishing another, was it the third, pickle from the jar.

"Whatcha doin' on that thing?" he asked of my work on the computer.

"Oh, writin' a review. I'll be through very soon. Why don't you play with Athos for a while? You promised him last night and he needs some exercise. And you'll be able to work off those sandwich calories, Barney."

Kiefer threw me a truly evil look. He made his way back to the kitchen, tossed the paper plate in the trash, placed the pickles back in the fridge, the fork in the dishwasher, and headed to the French doors leading to the backyard. He opened the right one to step out, hesitated, closed it, turned and walked to me at the table. He leaned down and kissed my head. I reached up and pulled his head down where I could kiss his forehead. He tilted his head to one side and kissed my lower lip. Once. Twice. He pulled away and looked at me. This was too weird. I was getting the same feeling I'd gotten this morning when he kissed me differently. Whaddup with this boy? I hoped I'd find out before he left tomorrow. God, I hated Sundays. They were like the last day of something--last day of spring, last day of summer, last day Six Flags is open, last day he's here.

Kiefer returned to the door and went out to play with Athos. I could hear them through the doors. I was most certain that Athos talked to Kiefer. Even more, I was certain that Kiefer understood him. I think maybe Athos gathered information about me for Kiefer and then related it to him when Kiefer visited. No. I'm not crazy. And I am kidding. Sorta. Kiefer had an amazing way with animals. What were they telling one another, I wondered. I returned to my work, finished up a few minutes earlier than I'd anticipated, and determined to go out and play with the boys.

About the time I had shut down the computer, Kiefer opened the door and came in. He was a mess, grinning from ear to ear. Apparently, the two of them had found the mud at the edge of the garden and attempted to get every drop of it to adhere to them. Beyond the door, Athos was unrecognizable. As I determined that Kiefer was about to step forward, I leapt to my feet and began to scream.

"Kiefer William Frederick Dempsey George Rufus Sutherland! If you take one more step inside this house you are a dead man. Freeze!" 

He froze, but he was shaking with a fit of giggles. He obviously didn't know I was serious.

"Strip, young man. I mean it. Right now. Down to the nubbin.'"

The giggling increased, but he managed to choke out a question.

"Wha- - - wha the fuck is a nubbin'?"

"You're gonna find out if you don't get those nasty clothes off. I mean it, Kiefer. I won't have mud all over this house. Get 'em off! Now!"

In the midst of the giggling fit, he managed to get the t-shirt over his head and was about to throw it on the floor as I reached his side and grabbed it away from him. Thank god he'd been barefoot.

"The jeans, please."

"O.K. O.K. Gimme a sec."

Still laughing, he unbuttoned his fly, reached out and touched his left hand to the wall to balance himself, pushed down the jeans with his right hand, and then reached down to pull the jeans off over each foot. Each muddy foot. I grabbed the jeans. I pointed to my immediate left, the door of the utility/shower room. Because I had no outdoor shower for those emerging from the pool, when the kitchen had been remodeled I had also had a shower put in the relatively large room that held my washer, dryer, freezer, and other appliances. 

"Get in that shower and get the mud off!" 

"Jeez, you're bossy."

"NOW!"

He headed to the shower and I headed outside with the mud encrusted clothing. God. Athos was a mess. I reached the water faucet, turned it on, dialed the 'spray' position on the attached nozzle, and began to rinse Athos and the clothes. A real cleaning would have to come later, but for now this would have to do. I turned off the water, scolded Athos, who was much more chagrined than Kiefer, and re-entered the kitchen. Kiefer was emerging from the utility room, as naked as the day he was born, except for the tattoos. I scowled at him.

"You mad?" he asked.

"Hell, yes, I'm mad. Look at this floor where your muddy damned feet have been!"

"I'll clean it up. Really. I'll get the mop."

He headed back into the utility room to retrieve the mop, but I was suddenly moved to do something other than watch him clean the floor. He was all damp and fresh.

"Forget it. C'mere."

"But I thought you . . ."

I broke into his sentence.

Very slowly, in my teacher voice, I said, "Come . . . here . . . , please."

He eyed me, then came forward. 

I took his left arm, pulled him forward, and turned his back to the narrow wall dividing the kitchen from the breakfast area. I placed my left palm flat on his chest and abruptly pushed him up against the wall. 

"Bend your arms and place them on top of your head," I continued in the teacher voice. He hesitated. "Go on. Do it," I said. He raised his arms.

With my hand still on his chest, I lowered myself to my knees, still staring straight into Kiefer's eyes. His body tensed, and he started to protest, his arms slightly moving. 

"Do not move. You have been a very bad boy. You know what happens to bad boys, don't you?"

He whispered a hoarse 'no.' Then I saw it in his eyes. Damn. The hang up shit. The old 'control dragon' had reared its ugly head. He was not sure if he wanted me to continue. I stood up, took his face between my hands, and cooed at him, dropping the teacher voice.

"Kiefer. I know what you're thinking. I am NOT trying to control you. Please tell me that after ten years you've figured that out. I don't want anything but to give you pleasure. Please, please tell me that you believe me."

He gave me a tremulous smile and placed his hands over mine.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Then will you please stop thinking about who's doing what to whom and concentrate on enjoying your body? Please? Just enjoy yourself."

He nodded affirmatively. I didn't push changing my voice back to the authoritative one. 

Rather than immediately returning to my knees, I used both my hands to replace Kiefer's arms back on his head, then replaced my left palm on his chest. I placed my tongue between his breasts and began to make lazy, sideways figure eights all the way down his chest, past his navel, and to his pubic hair. I returned to my knees and prepared to enjoy the feast. Getting head was not what Kiefer was adverse to. He avoided situations where he felt a loss of control. 

I cupped Kiefer's balls gently, continuing to look up at him. I then moved my hand to the base of his penis and encircled it with my thumb and index finger, exerting a slight pressure. I licked the head of his penis. I loved its velvety feel. I rubbed it on my cheek then placed it back in my mouth. I wanted this to last a while, so I had determined to change the pace and tactics for as long as I could manage it. I started by slowly licking his phrenum. It was slick and incredibly hard. I continued to lick him, alternating pressure from less to more.

Soon I engulfed his whole penis in my mouth. I was lucky. My gag reflex was generally only incited when I was on my back. I held Kiefer's penis in my mouth for a few seconds, then slackened my lips and moved upward while blowing my hot breath on him. I continued this for several minutes. I moved my mouth up and down with little pressure but a lot of heat from my breath. The heat, the slight friction, the moisture, all combined to make Kiefer's legs begin to tremble slightly. I managed to look up for a glimpse at his face. He had tilted his head back slightly, his mouth was slack, eyes shut tight. His arms were still above his head, my left palm still on his chest though a bit lower, pressing him against the wall.

When Kiefer's knees began to bend, I changed my movements. I began making circles with my mouth, all the way down, then up, down then up, trailing my tongue along the way. The knees bent more, and Kiefer's arms started down off his head to hold himself up. I raised my head, took his cock into my palm, stood up slightly, and increased the pressure on his chest. "No," I commanded. "Arms back up."

Kiefer grunted, but the arms went up. I moved my left hand from his chest and grasped behind his left knee in an attempt to steady him. Then I resumed my feast. His strong, muscular legs were quivering now. I soon moved my right hand down to his testicles, now tight and full, and my mouth began pumping up and down a bit more quickly. I speeded up in near imperceptible increments, adding a head movement along with the up and down motion. The knees buckled. The arms came down and the palms of his hands went to the wall. I didn't stop him this time. Kiefer was in Pudge Rodriquez stance, on the tips of his toes, knees splayed. I had to move my knees farther back to accommodate Kiefer's change of position. I continued to stroke his penis with my hot mouth, faster and faster until his breathing matched my own rhythm and intensity.

Kiefer's head was tilted way back now. His breath was coming in short, loud gulps. His hands came almost painfully down to the sides of my head as he tried to pull me away when he knew the time for the explosion was at hand. I shook my head 'no' from side to side to let him know that this was going all the way. He could only gasp in response, continuing to hold my head. His buttocks finally sank to the floor. His cock was throbbing. I could feel the movement inside my mouth. He held his breath. The hot cum filled my mouth. And filled it. And filled it. I greedily swallowed it all.

The breath he'd been holding slowly escaped. His head lolled to the left and his lips were parted. His eyes were still closed. His hands fell from my head down to the floor. I disengaged my mouth from his penis as carefully as I could. I knew it was super sensitive. I tried to replace the warmth of my mouth by enclosing his shaft with my warm palm. I leaned forward, placing my left cheek on Kiefer's chest. I looked up at him. His eyes opened slightly. I smiled at him. He weakly smiled back. I nestled on his chest again, allowing him to recover for a minute or two. Eventually Kiefer's left hand fingers came up to caress my hair. I lifted my head and spoke.

"You O.K.? Can you get to the sofa?"

"Oh, please" he muttered softly. "I'm paralyzed. I'll never walk again." 

I giggled. 

"Uh, all right that you can laugh. I'm serious. My legs have no feeling in them."

"Oh, you'll be fine. Here. Let me help you to the couch. You'll be fine by dinner."

As Kiefer muttered 'O.K.' I stood and then assisted him to do the same. We managed to make it to the sofa where he collapsed. I started away, but he stopped me.

"No, please. Come here," he said, inviting me into his arms.

"Just a minute," I said. I went to the bathroom under the stairwell, fetched a wet cloth and a towel, and returned to the sofa. I handed Kiefer the cloth and towel and he began to clean himself while I headed to the kitchen for a drink.

"Water?" I asked.

"Just a sip of yours."

As I returned, I drank from the bottle of water thirstily, handed it to Kiefer, and tumbled down onto the couch. He was up on one elbow, drinking from the bottle. I handed him the cap and put my head down. I heard him replace the cap and toss the bottle to the floor. He didn't lower himself back down. I looked up at him. He was doing it again. Staring at me. It was so weird.

"WHY are you staring at me? What is wrong with you? You've been doin' this all day!"

Kiefer looked busted.

"I'm not starin' and there's nothin' wrong. I don't know what you're talkin' about."

This was very unlike Kiefer. He was honest to a fault. Don't ask him if he likes something unless you want the truth. But he was lying to me now.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me. A hard kiss. An insistent kiss. Then he pulled away and looked at me again. He tucked his bottom lip inside his mouth, then bit down on it with his teeth. He let his lip go. Then he took me into his arms and held me very tightly. 

Kiefer moved his right hand between my legs. I knew where he was going, but I really wanted to wait until later when we could concentrate more on one another.

"Not yet, sweet. I'm, O.K. Later is fine."

Kiefer looked at me intently. He softly responded.

"Whaddya mean later? What's wrong with now? Are you all right? You still mad?"

"Nooooooooooo. I am NOT mad. I just know that later this evening, after we've had a great meal and some time to talk and maybe a bubble bath, we'll both be in better shape to enjoy our time together. What's wrong with that?"

He studied my face, but was apparently satisfied with my response.

"Take a nap with me, please," he said gently.

I hesitated in responding. He was lying to me about something begin wrong with him. I knew it. I just hadn't figured out what it was. I decided the most expedient decision right now was to go along with his request. He'd be asleep in minutes and I could go on about my business. I raised my head, kissed his chin, and answered.

"Sure. I could use a short nap."

We snuggled into a comfortable position, and I determined to enjoy this time together, no matter what was really wrong with Kiefer. His arms encircled me, gently cupping me close to his body. I felt safe, cared for, and very happy. Tonight, I would discover what troubled him. Now, I enjoyed the bliss. 



Back Door Woman: Sat. PM Ch. 02



I hadn't intended to, but I must have taken a nap anyway. I didn't exactly wake up. I was jolted out of slumber. It suddenly struck me. A fierce, burning pain pierced my chest cavity. The place we call the heart. Unannounced visit. Uncharacteristic kisses. Unchecked stares. Lying. This was it. Over. Done. Kiefer had shown up unannounced because he'd come to say goodbye. Stab. Stab. Stab. What was that driving into my heart? I was still wrapped in Kiefer's arms. He still snoozed. What to do now that I knew?

Whoa. Maybe I didn't know anything. Maybe that wasn't it. Ha. Who am I kidding? It's over. Finis. My heart was pounding, trying to escape its confines. Why didn't he feel it? My heart? Why didn't it wake him up? I forced myself to take deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Better. Get a grip, a grip, a grip, please. If this is to be the last hurrah, then don't be a ninny. Do you want his last memory of you to be of a whining nag? No, no, no. I determined to adopt the stiff upper lip. I can do it. I've been doing it for years. This won't be that different. Be extra tuned in. Make memory snapshots. Remember this weekend forever.

My determination to keep a stiff upper lip did not lessen the searing pain in my chest. My recollection of what I'd been thinking before I napped is that I'd been eager to discover what was wrong with Kiefer. Now I didn't want to know. I wasn't going to do this again as I had years before. No gnashing of teeth. No wailing. Not again. Once was enough. Not for him again, for no one. Wasn't going to ask. No. Not going to ask him. I had to get up. Had to escape. I carefully pulled away and up from Kiefer's embrace. I was not successful in my attempt not to disturb him. His eyes flew open as I stood. He looked scared. Well, perhaps not scared. But something.

The phone rang. Thank god. It was my friend D'Ann, calling to see if I was alive. I knew that that was not really why she was calling. She, no, they, my friends, were still in shock about Kiefer. Well, it would be short lived, my friends' acquaintance with him. Too bad. I turned away from the sofa as I spoke into the phone. I didn't feel like talking to D'Ann. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. I made hurried, whispered excuses to her and hung up. Kiefer was half way to me by the time the phone was back in its cradle.

"Who was that? You didn't talk long."

"Oh, it was my friend D'Ann. Just checkin' on us. Wonderin' if we were alive."

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"God, I dunno. It's just an expression."

It was near 6:00 P.M. I had slept much longer than I'd thought. I moved to the kitchen.

"It's nice outside still. Wanna go out for some wine before dinner?"

"That sounds good. Can I go out like this," Kiefer asked, referring to his nakedness.

"Sure," I said. Be brave. Be funny. Don't let it show. "If you're not embarrassed waggin' that little thing out in public, well then, I say go for it. Good for you!"

His right fist pounded my upper arm. "You are so mean to me, J!" he emphasized 'mean.'

"Oh, poor baby. He's sooooooooooo mistreated."

He laughed. Laughter. His laughter. Could I make a recording? And him not know?

Kiefer headed upstairs to dress. My mind was still reeling with the sense of impending loss. I mechanically prepared the dinner rolls and placed them on the baking sheet in preparation to bake at a later time. When Kiefer returned to the kitchen, I almost choked. I felt the laugh way before it issued from my throat. There he stood, my little pink Power Puff Girls t-shirt stretched tightly over his torso, four or five inches of skin visible between the hem of the t-shirt and the waistband of his jeans. Barefoot still. He looked utterly ridiculous and utterly adorable. I was convulsed with laughter as he wandered around the kitchen, gathering wine, corkscrew, glasses, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary. He had given me the t-shirt a long time ago when the Power Puff cartoons were so popular, and I had carefully laundered it over the years because it was one of my favorite things to wear around the house.

I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard.

"What's the matter," he asked with supreme nonchalance, glancing at me with a decidedly poker face.

I still couldn't answer. I wanted to hug him, hug him tight. My Power Puff girl guy man.

"C'mere, you idiot," I finally got out. "You look so cute. You could do the drag queen thing, I think."

I pressed my palms to his face and smacked his forehead with my lips.

"Nah," he said. "I'd never be able to manage the high heels. Too clumsy"

We both laughed and he headed to the French doors. I raced ahead to open one for him.

"Grab my smokes, will ya? They're on the bar."

I went back and picked up the pack, a book of matches tucked just inside the package where a small tear had been made, and followed him out just in time to prevent Athos from knocking him over as he maintained balance of all the stuff in his arms. I helped him place everything on the small table between the chaises and turned around to close the door. He busied himself opening the wine. 

"You haven't called Sarah Jude today, y'know."

"Oh, shit, I forgot. I gonna get my phone." 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just get the phone inside. I don't think a phone call's gonna break me. Besides, you know the cell reception here sucks."

"You sure you don't mind? I'll pay the bill," he said as he reached for a smoke.

Kiefer had always been politely concerned about my money. It was sweet. He lit the cigarette.

"Of course I don't mind. You are so goofy," I said, making a face at him and crossing my eyes.

He had already opened the wine. I began to fill our glasses as he stepped inside the door and grabbed the phone. He backed out, shut the door, and started dialing, pacing as the call went through. I hoped Camelia, Sarah Jude's mom, or Sarah answered the phone. He always fretted when neither of them could be reached. 

"Hi, Cam. Sarah there?" Pause. Kiefer's facial expression changed. "Huh? Slow down, slow down. What's wrong? What's the matter?"

Kiefer's pacing stopped then restarted. Something was up.

"S-L-O-W down, Cam. WHAT did you say?"

I watched him intently. The timbre of his voice had changed. He stopped, stock still. Oh, God. The face. Ugly Kiefer. The eyes. Ugly, ugly Kiefer. What had happened? He was frozen. Then, apparently, Camelia's voice on the phone called him out of the hateful stiffness.

"That little mutha fucker. I will KILL him. He is dead, Cam. That little son of a bitch is DEAD," he screamed. Pause. Listening to Camelia.

Ugly Kiefer was gone, but a very pissed Kiefer was in his place.

"No, no, I don't want to talk to her. No, don't - - - uh. Hi, baby."

The voice changed again. Sarah was evidently on the other end of the phone now.

"Are you all right?" Pause. "What? What do you mean it's nothing? Don't TELL me it's nothing, Sarah. I'm KILLIN' that little son of a bitch." Pause. "No, no, no. Stop, Sarah. O.K. O.K. Are you SURE you're all right?" Pause. "Yeah, I know, I know. Huh?"

There was a lengthy pause as, evidently, Sarah explained something to him.

"Are you SURE?" Pause. "O.K. O.K." Pause. "I'm just worried about you, baby. That's all. I love you. Do you want me to come home?" 

My Kiefer's face was back. Not ugly Kiefer's. Not pissed Kiefer's. Just Kiefer's. Sarah had restored his good spirits.

"Yes, I promise. YES, I promise. I'm fine. I love you, baby. Love you. Bye. O.K. Bye."

Kiefer punched the disconnect button on the phone. He sighed. Heavily. He woodenly walked to the door, opened it, and returned the phone to its resting place. I decided not to intrude on his thoughts until he spoke. I knew how much he loved his daughter and how much he regretted things he had done and not done in the past. Lamentably, he had once said of Sarah's childhood that he was sick of sandboxes. I knew that he had relived that moment many times, wishing that she were still sandbox size and that he were in there with her, loving her then as he loved her now. Her maturation was almost more than he could bear. I had thought, honestly, that the onset of Sarah's menses was literally going to kill him. So much to deal with as a father. He had, after all, been so young when she was born. He was, after all, not so grown up now.

Kiefer absently wandered. After a few moments, he turned to me. I smiled.

"You O.K.?" I asked. "Need me to take you to the airport?"

"Nah. Sorta false alarm. Well, maybe. I dunno yet. I mean, you know Cam. She exaggerates to the max!"

In truth, I didn't know Camelia. I had spoken on the phone with her more than several times many years ago, but I didn't know her.

"Cam tells me that this new boyfriend of Sarah's tried something with her."

"Tried something? You mean - - - sexual?" I exclaimed.

"Yeah. Sexual," he growled.

God, no wonder I'd glimpsed ugly Kiefer.

"But that wasn't the case?" I inquired.

"Not according to Sarah. She says Cam blew the whole thing out of proportion. I'll get to the bottom of it when I get home. But Sarah sounded fine, just fine. I trust her more than I do Cam."

Kiefer had no idea how lucky he was. How lucky he and Camelia were. At her age, sixteen, they should be grateful that she hadn't been sexually active for years! I credit Kiefer's frank sex talks with Sarah for her virginity. He had never steered away from speaking frankly with her when drugs and sex were the subjects.

He looked so relieved.

"Want your wine now?"

"Yeah. That'd be good."

He received the glass from me and started walking towards the back of the yard. He still needed to think.

Me, I was just grateful that ugly Kiefer had not prevailed. I had seen ugly Kiefer only a few times, and that was a few times too many. I wanted no part of him. Kiefer was ninety-nine percent Dr. Jekyll and one percent Mr. Hyde. Mr. Hyde was not someone you'd want to meet. Mr. Hyde-Kiefer was brooding, dark, and vicious. Cold, mean, and brutal. Hmm. An Eye for an Eye's Robert Doob was an honest to goodness altar boy in comparison to Mr. Hyde-Kiefer. The drumming scene. Yeah. I knew where that came from. But that was only a lightning brief glimpse. The real Mr. Hyde-Kiefer was much more frightening than Doob. Unbidden fears beset me at times. I knew Kiefer's drinking, too. His overindulging, that is. There was sappy drinking Kiefer, cute, but obnoxious after half an hour. Then there was nasty drinking Kiefer. I didn't like him at all. Never did. Nasty drinking Kiefer was not quite as bad as Mr. Hyde, but I had fears about whether the two ever met. Sometimes I imagined him stalking dives and dark streets in strange places in the middle of the night, searching. Searching for something. Absolution. Revenge. The dragon. Slay the dragon. Or, succumb.

The contrast between Hyde-Kiefer and the one in my line of sight wearing a Power Puff Girls t-shirt was striking. In fact, I'd been so transfixed moments ago by his face, his eyes, the ugly Kiefer, that I'd failed to appreciate the dichotomy before my own eyes until now. Athos was trailing along behind Kiefer. Eventually, Kiefer squatted down and rubbed Athos warmly. He was O.K. now. He headed back to me. I was happy to be there.

"Filler," I asked, pointing to his empty glass.

"Yeah," he said, as he sat down again. "How's yours?"

"Fine. You O.K.? You want some more time to yourself?"

"I'm O.K."

I must have looked at him questioningly because he followed up.

"Really. I'm fine. Thanks. Do I need to make the salad now? I mean, if you want me to make one?"

"Oh, it's still a bit early. Let's wait a little. How 'bout finishin' this bottle of wine first? And, by the way. Take my t-shirt off, you creep. You're gonna stretch it beyond recognition."

"O.K." he grinned. He pulled the shirt over his head. I stood up, took it from him, still chuckling about how absurdly cute he looked in it.

"It's too cool for no shirt, doncha think? You want me to run up and get one for you," I asked.

"Nah. I'll get it," he replied. "And take that back up, too," he said as he took the pink t-shirt from me. He disappeared into the house and returned moments later with a Hard Rock Acapulco t-shirt on. Clogs, this time. No bare feet. He sat down, picked up his glass, and turned to me.

"How was Mexico?" he asked.

"Mexico? God, I've been back for over a month!"

"I know, but I haven't really talked to you about it."

"Well, it was like it usually is - - - rewarding and heartbreaking. You really do need to come with me one time. You'd be changed, you know."

"Are you sure you'd want me to come? Don't you have friends, regulars, who are always there?"

Kiefer was referring to my three or four times a year visits to somewhere in Central or South America with a local group who provided carpentry skills and, sometimes, simple medical care. I'd been at him for years to accompany me, but the times never seemed to mesh with his schedule.

"Well, sure, some of the same people are there all the time, but what's that got to do with you?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just thought it might be a private thing."

"Private? How many times have I asked you to come with me? About a thousand?"

"No. Not a thousand. Don't get hostile. I just asked."

I didn't understand his use of the word 'hostile.' I had been confused about his reference to a private thing. Kiefer's generous but sometimes too sheltered nature would benefit from helping people whose standards of living were, in a word, barbaric by ours. My feelings must have shown on my face. He reached over and touched my face.

"I'm sorry. I just - - - I just wondered how your trip went. Anyone in particular you enjoy being in Mexico with? Any of the regulars?"

A strange question.

"Hmmm. I dunno. Let's see. They're all great. There's Sherry. She's a kill. I really like her. And Stan. He's the master carpenter. God, I've learned so much from him. This time we completed three houses and a community center. God, they were so proud, so happy." I paused, thinking about those smiling faces.

When I looked back up at Kiefer, he was staring at me. Again. I let it drop. I wasn't asking. No.

He finally smiled and we began to catch up with one another's lives over the past couple of months. I listened intently to each of his words. I might not hear them again. I told him a little more about Mexico and a bit about the universities I'd visited lately, and he filled me in on funny things that had happened at work. The conversation finally turned to where I was headed next. I told him that I was headed to L.A. soon. His eyes got big. I guess so. I wasn't going to lie to him. But I bet he couldn't be too happy knowing I'd soon be in his territory and he was here to say goodbye. But that's not how he responded.

"L.A.? When? How long? What days will you be there? That's so great. I can't wait."

Where did that come from? Can't wait? What does that mean?

"Uh. Well, I'll be there in about three weeks."

"Where will you be? UCLA? How long?"

"Well, I'll be at UCLA some and Pepperdine some. Mostly I'll be doing some research and writing. I'll be there for a month or more."

"Oh, my God. You're KIDDING, right? A month!"

"Yeah. About."

"That'll be so cool," Kiefer yelled. "It will be great to have you there when I get home from work!"

"Oh. Oh, I won't be at your place. I leased a house. Don't wanna be in your face and space for that long. You'd be sick of me."

"What?" he practically screamed. "What do you mean you've leased a house? Are you crazy?"

Kiefer suddenly stopped his animated questioning. He got still, in fact.

"Oh, I see. You don't want to be with me for that long. Or at all."

I was stunned. I had always tried to give him his space since our 'relationship' had ended years ago. It shouldn't have surprised him that much.

"Of course I want to be with you! But I don't want to intrude on your lifestyle while I'm there. It could be for over a month. What would you do with me there for that long? You'd go crazy!"

Kiefer's response was very quiet.

"No, I wouldn't. Maybe good crazy, but not bad crazy." He looked me straight in the eyes. "Change your mind, please."

His eyes awaited an answer. 

"We'll talk about it, O.K.? God, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to be concerned about your happiness."

"Yeah." He drained his glass. The bottle was empty. "Wanna eat?"

"Sure."

I got up, picked up the empty bottle, my glass, and the corkscrew and headed to the door. He preceded me, holding his glass, and opened it. We entered the kitchen and, without speaking, each attended to our own tasks to complete dinner preparations. Oddly, despite the rather uncomfortable conversation we'd been having outside, the dinner went rather well. No, it went damned well. We unspokenly agreed to be pleasant. The meal was good. Our conversation centered round a novel that we'd both recently finished. Midway through the meal, I was reminded of why I'd been so attracted to him years ago. He was brilliant. Animated. He had the most incredible way of cutting through bullshit and going straight to the heart of the matter. He was, in a word, fascinating. I had been mentally fucking him for well over half an hour. I wanted to do it more than mentally. But I also didn't want to rush it. I loved the anticipation. Plus, I wanted to enjoy the feeling in case it was the last time I was to feel it.

"Are you as full as I am," I complained.

"Oh, God. I'm dying. Stuffed."

"Wanna take a walk? Get some of this stuffed feeling to go away? I think it's still O.K. outside. I might need a sweater though."

"What about the dishes? Should we get 'em now?" he inquired.

"Good, Lord. Do you mean you talked me into putting in two dishwashers and neither of them cleans the table?" I paused and then laughed.

He laughed, too.

We quickly picked up the table, rinsed the dishes, put away the food, and headed to the back door. I reached for the hooded sweatshirt hanging on the coat rack and pulled it over my head.

"You think you have on enough, or do you want to get something else to put on?" I asked.

"Aaaa. I'll just walk fast if it gets too cool."

We enjoyed a wonderful walk, not talking much, just holding hands and strolling. From time to time, Kiefer would lean down and kiss the top of my head as we walked. I wanted it to go on forever. My heart was beating too fast and hard again, but it was from a different source this time around. I wanted to make love.

When we got back to the house and entered the door, Kiefer set the alarm, asking if I wanted a drink of water. I answered 'no' and headed for the stairs, kicking off my clogs as I went. Two steps up and I stopped, pulling my t-shirt over my head and tossing it over the railing. I wondered if Kiefer were watching. Half way up, I stopped, slowly pulled down my sweats and tossed them as well. At the top of the stairs, I stopped to remove my panties, a pale pink thong. Before I got them off, he was there. I have no idea how he got up the stairs that quickly, but he was there. He stopped the downward pull of my panties. He went down on his knees, smothering his face in my belly, kissing my navel repeatedly. Then he went for the place that made my knees weak. He twirled me around and slowly licked the small of my back. It was one of the most sensitive places on my body. He alternated between stroking the area with his hot tongue and with a light touch of his fingers. Soon, my legs were not capable of holding me up anymore. He caught me in his arms, strong, covered with golden hair, stood up, turned me around, and kissed me. Fire in his lips. Fire on mine. My arms went up around his neck and my legs up around his waist. He cupped my buttocks with both hands, fire in them, too, and headed toward the bedroom door. 

Kiefer didn't stop at the bed. He kept walking until we were in the bathroom. He placed me on the smooth countertop surrounding the sink. Now the panties came off. Kissing, kissing like teenagers in the backseat of a car. Hot, heavy, hard smooching. Touching, touching his skin, feeling his touch on mine. Kiefer's fingers went inside me. My hand went to his cock. He removed his fingers and swept them teasingly across the small of my back, watching in the mirror as my back arched, listening to my moans. I thought he'd enter me, but he did not. He leaned around and began again to lick where he'd just run his fingers. Then he blew his warm breath on the damp skin. It tingled, it tickled, it razed my skin with the kind of fire that can't be seen with the naked eye.




Back Door Woman: Sat. PM Ch. 02



God, I loved his touch. It made me do things, feel things. Ummm, sooooo good. I loved the way his barely scratchy face stubble felt as it grazed along my skin. My hand went between our chests, rubbing his up and down, enjoying the feeling of my fingers entangled in the curly chest and abdomen hair. The golden fuzz. The one thing I liked about the Barney Fife thinness was that it made his muscle definition so much more pronounced than usual. I turned my head and bit his arm. Not hard, but enough for him to react. He moved his head around to my side and bit me back, on the shoulder. My face was hot. Everything was hot. I was impatient. What was he waiting for? I wanted it now. I placed my lips on his left ear and whispered.

"Fuck me. Now." I felt the 'now' vaulting from my throat, demanding his attention.

Kiefer straightened up in front of me, staring deeply into my eyes. His were so blue, so smoky blue now. He glanced down, determining whether the counter's height had me appropriately positioned. It was a go. His gaze returned to my own, and he slowly, forcefully entered me. I gasped. He gasped. One of us. Both of us. I dunno.

It was beyond accurate description. The feeling. What words? What words? The sides, the lining, of my pussy, ultra sensitive. The feeling. The fullness. His cock scorching my insides. Branding me with his mark. His. His. His, it said. Yes, I know I'm yours. I know. Look in his eyes. Those blue eyes. What were they saying? You're mine, mine, mine. It will never be this good with anyone else. I know that, silly. I know. Shut up. Shut up your talking eyes and fuck me, please. No, look at my eyes, his eyes said. This is the way it is. You are mine.

My position on the counter allowed Kiefer to pound his cock into me at the most excruciatingly delicious angle. At times, Kiefer's hands were holding my hips. At others, they grasped the counter's edge. The cock still pounded. And it pounded and pounded. I wasn't moaning. I was grunting. Uh. Uh. Uh. Grunting with each pound that pushed and pulled my body back and forth on the edge of the counter. An observer at this point would have identified me as Raggedy Ann. Head lolling back. Tongue out, I'm sure. Grunt, grunt, grunt, Miss Piggy. Chin down to chest, chin back. Chin down, chin back as he bangs bangs bangs. God, god, god. Was it true? True? Did all people say god when they were dying or cuming? Was it true? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, god, godddddddddddddd. Our eyes locked. I talked to him, but I don't know if I was speaking. Cum to me, baby, in me. Cum, cum, cum. Fill me. Yes, I see you. Yes, I know, baby. I know. You're cuming, you're filling me. I see. I see you, baby.

My hands were locked on Kiefer's ass, one hand on each cheek. His muscles were tensed. Iron. He was feeling the immediate aftermath of orgasm. His arms were locked around me so tight I could barely breathe. Fuck it. Who needs breath? Hold me, sweet. Hold me tight. Don't let me go. Don't leave me forever. Forever. That word. So mean. So hurtful. Hold me.

Kiefer unwrapped his arms, pulled away. He looked at me. Questioningly. Why? What did he want? What? I buried my face in his chest. Nothing else to do when you're scorched. Nothing. Why must you see the brand on my face? In my eyes? Isn't it enough to just know? He placed his right hand under my chin and pulled my head up. But no, he wasn't looking for anything. He was smiling, laughing softly. Laughing at me. Laughing at me? 

"Why are you laughing at me," I asked, befuddled. "Why?"

"I'm not laughin' at you, J," he soothed me. "I'm happy. Aren't you? You look happy," he emphasized the 'look.' 

"Yesssss. Yesssss, I'm happy. So good. Sooooooooo good." I fell over on to him. Cheek on his shoulder. Don't move. Let me stay here. Forever. The 'f' word. Kiefer held me. Didn't move. I had time to recover. My feelings. Gathered. Whewwww. I pulled my head away and sat straight up. Kiefer looked at me. I spoke softly to him.

"That was incredible. That was, was, well, it just was," I said.

He smiled. Everything smiled. His eyes, his mouth, his whole face. I turned my upper body around to turn on the hot water faucet. Clean up a bit. Go to sleep. Sleep my last sound sleep by his side. Kiefer's hand reached around me, turned off the faucet.

"Why did you do that? I want to clean up."

"The shower, love. We're going into the shower," he directed.

I could only sit on the counter as he reached into the shower and turned on the faucets. God, where was he finding this strength. He was usually more spent than I. Oh. Ohhh. I understand now. The strength of the one saying goodbye. Bathe her. Ritual bath. Wash your hands, Pilate. Wash your hands. He turned and pulled me off the counter and into the shower stall.

My legs were weak at first, but the water helped in my revival. Washed in the water, saved by the blood. Why was my head singing. I soon recovered, partially, my physical strength, at least. No, Pilate. I will wash you. You will remember this washing.

My shower is large, a tiled bench on the rear wall. I guided Kiefer to that bench and sat him down. Warm water, spraying on my back. He didn't want this for some reason, he wanted up, wanted to wash me. I prevailed. Soap him. Lather him. Lath him. I began at his neck and slowly worked my way down his body- - - shoulders, collar bone, nipples, oh, so slowly, chest, tummy, tummy, yummy, navel, haunch bones. Down, down, down the thighs, his muscular, sensitive thighs. Palms caressing the outer thighs, stroking down, then up, then down, then up. Venus, was he moaning? Shit. My heart pounded. He was moaning. Palms to inner thighs, pushing them apart. Resistance. No, futile, Pilate, futile. They will be apart. Hold them apart. 

My head went between his legs, and I began to bathe the soft, inner thigh flesh with my tongue. I licked until his body began to move, rock forward and back, forward and back on the bench. I moved my head to his knee and held the left leg where I could lap the flesh behind the knee. Ooooooooooo. Was that me moaning? No. Kiefer. Lick again. Behind the knee. Oooooooooo. Ooooooooooooo. Ooooooooooooo. Move to the flesh behind the right knee. Ooooooooooo. Oooooooooooo. Ooooooooooooooo, again. God, cock hard. Cock hard again so soon, so soon, so soon? Warm, warm water on my back. Am I dreaming, no, no, there it is. Is. Hard. Look at him, look. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. That was my voice. His head is back, back. His hips. Haunching, fucking the air. No, no air, please. Me, Me, Me. Fuck me.

My head moved back to Kiefer's inner thighs, but his hands, formerly on the bench at his sides, came up to my waist. Up we went, twirling, it seemed, in midair. My back faced the wall where Kiefer's back had been seconds before. A wonder. Wonder that you are ready so soon again, my love. Hair, capturing droplets of the water spray. Sparkling in the sun. No, no sun. The light in the shower. Mouth sucking my nipples, hard, hard. His tongue on my neck, in my mouth. My hands on his cock.

His cock. So hard, so ready. Smooth, rigid, hot. Hot with heat, hot with the spray of water dribbling over his shoulders and down his chest. Kiefer turned me around, bent me over. My forearms, resting on the tile bench supporting my upper body weight, my ass high in the air. Kiefer's head rested on my back, hugging me tightly to him. His cock thrust between my thighs, but did not enter me. His tongue moved down, down to my butt cheeks. He started lightly biting my ass. Here, there, here again. Bite. Bite. Drive me crazy. 

"Fuck, me. Kiefer, fuck me now." My hand went behind me, grabbing his cock, trying to guide it inside me. He made me wait. Made me ask, tell him what I wanted.

"What do you want, J?" he growled in my left ear. "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck me. I said it before."

"Why, J? Why do you want me to? What do you want?"

"In, me. In me, please. I want to feel it, feel you. Fuck me."

"Please?"

"Yes, please. Please."

His cock rammed inside me. Rammed. My body was propelled forwards, my forehead almost hit the tiled wall. Ram. Ram. Umm. Uhh. Umm. Uhh. More, please, more. Kiefer's cock was searing my insides. His hands were on my shoulders, then my waist, then my shoulders again. Holding me. Holding me down, holding me still, while he rammed me. Ohh, ohh, Where have you been? Where have you been for so long?

God, hot. My hand to my clit. Rubbing. Moving my body, back into his. Haunching into his body. His hands moving down to my pelvic bones. Holding them. Hard. Ramming into me like a spike into a railroad tie, a stake into a vampire's heart. Ram. His right hand found my left one. Replaced it. Searing me in two places, no, three at once. Fingers, cock, tongue on my neck. Ahhhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhh. Legs too weak. Weak.

"Come, baby, come," I pleaded to the tile wall. "Fill me. Fill me. I, I, I'mmmmmmmmmmm - - -" 

I couldn't finish what I wanted to say. The orgasm was too strong. Racked my body for what seemed liked quarter of an hour, though I knew it was only seconds. Kiefer's hands returned to my pelvic bones, his cock still ramming, but slowing, slowing down. Grinding in large circles, the upward part of the arc literally lifting my body, my feet, off the shower's tile floor. Up. Uh. Up. Uh. Up. Uh. The 'uhs' becoming a duet, his and mine. His part softer, but singing never the less. Uh, uh, uh. Sing, baby, sing. Sing the duet. My feet were not on the floor. My ass was cupped into Kiefer's belly. We were melded together, melded, Vulcan mind meld, are you reading my mind, love, reading my mind?

We stayed in this 'c' shaped embrace for some time. Finally, without words, he released me and I rose and faced him. We kissed a long, slow, sweet kiss. I reached for the bar of soap. I lathered my hands and washed his genitals, not too fast, not too slow. Washing to cleanse, to communicate my care and affection for him, not to arouse. My turn. He washed me gently, delicately, as if I were a porcelain figurine. The feeling was exquisitely sweet, and bittersweet, considering that this might be the last time I felt such tenderness from him. Still not speaking, we stepped from the shower after Kiefer had turned the faucets off, ended the warm rain.

I took a towel from the rack and began to dry Kiefer's body. First his back, then his front, moving slowly, drying thoroughly each precious part. Our eyes stayed locked on one another as I finished drying his thighs, calves, feet. Kiefer pulled the other towel from the rack and began drying me. He started with my face, then neck, then my breasts and belly. We still stared. He turned me and dried my back and the backs of my legs. He walked around me this time rather than turning me and slowly dried my thighs, moving down to my feet. The towel finally found its way between my legs, and I closed my eyes as Kiefer dried me gently. When I reopened my eyes, he was smiling again.

"Ready for bed, J?" he asked.

"Um hum," I said sleepily. I was so relaxed, so ready to close my eyes.

I forced my eyes to remain open long enough to brush my teeth, a task I would have forgotten if Kiefer hadn't started for his toothbrush first. When we'd finished, we headed to bed. I tried to capture a clear picture of this moment and the ones leading up to it to keep in my memory scrapbook. So sleepy. No, remember this. This would be the last time we'd crawl in this bed together. The last time our bodies would slumber together. The last time I'd feel his skin, his body, touching mine while at rest. The last time to hear his slow, steady, soft breathing in my ear. No more being tickled awake at dawn or poked by Mr. Stiffy in the middle of the night. No more. Let it be. Say your let it be mantra and rest in his arms. There will be time for mourning when he is gone. For now, hold him, be held. Sleep the sleep of innocent babies. One more glorious morning to wake up to his silly grin. We settled into our familiar posture, my back to Kiefer's chest, my butt to his belly. His left arm fell over my side at my waist, his face in my hair. Good night, sweet prince. I hope my dreams are untroubled this night. And what of you, dear? Of what do you think? Dream? Or, do you?

"Good night, sweet pea," I said.

"G'night, J. Sleep tight."

"Um hmm. You, too."



Back Door Woman: Saturday, A.M.



Hmmm. Awake again. I remembered getting up a couple of hours ago to pee. Now I'd been awake for a few minutes. Saturday morning. Around 8:00 or so. My sweet one still slept in my arms. I couldn't help but bend my head down to plant kisses on the top of his. He didn't stir. He was so tired. I wanted him to sleep as long as possible. If careful, I could probably get out of bed and get some things done before Kiefer woke up.

As I contemplated how to disentangle myself, the bundle of contradictions in my arms began to stir. Contradictions? The hopeless romantic gone modern. The conservative radical. The monogamous slut. The shy extrovert. The scatterbrained perfectionist. The contradictions were part of why I loved him so much. Not that he'd heard me say that I loved him before. But I did. I loved him enough to let him be. Yeah. John Lennon and Paul McCartney had it right. Let it be. I'd enjoyed Kiefer's company for this long, a decade, because I'd let it be. Oh, I could have lost him long ago had I been unable to let it be. But I'd figured out that if I wanted to have him in my life at all, it would be at the cost of letting things be. 

"Mornin,'" came the soft growl.

"Good morning,' pumpkin. Did you sleep well?"

"Uh huh. You?"

"Absolutely. I was about to sneak out of bed and let you sleep."

"Uh uh. You goin' nowhere now. You busted," Kiefer said as he disentangled himself and looked up at me.

"Oh, my. Please don't bust me, officer," I squealed. I looked down at him and batted my eyes defensively.

"Battin' the eyes won't help you now. Too late--"

Kiefer took my left hand and moved it down to his fully erect penis.

"Ummmmm," I purred. "Got that mornin' Mr. Stiffy thing goin' on, eh? Well, good morning, Mr. Stiffy. How you? Ready to come out and play?" I took his cock in my hand and gently stroked it.

"He ain't playin' this morning.' He's serious."

I moved down in the bed and faced Kiefer. He was already facing me. I placed my left arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me while I wrapped my left leg around his thighs. Kiefer's right hand came up to my face and pulled me to him. He lightly bit my lower lip. Then he pulled away and looked at me. 

"Miss me?" he inquired.

"Nah. Not a bit," I lied.

My actions belied my words. I began to kiss Kiefer's face. Then I moved down to his luscious chest. He always mildly protested when I worked my way to his nipples and began to nibble them. He didn't think it was quite right for him to enjoy this attention so much. I'd always told him it was silly for him not to enjoy what felt good. He didn't always believe me though. The boy had hang-ups. Fewer now than when we'd first met, but he still had several. Those were old stories though. Stories that had stayed with me and me alone and had probably helped buy me the decade I'd enjoyed.

I moved my head from Kiefer's nipples to trail my tongue down the middle of his stomach. I lingered around his navel, delving my tongue into it and circling round and round. After a moment, I moved my tongue down to Kiefer's pubic area. He stirred, but made no audible sound. One of his hang-ups. No sound. Well, sometimes a soft, soft sound, but mostly nothing. Maddening, really. But it was one of the leftovers from his childhood. Uck. Long story. Fortunately, I'd learned to read other signs. Over the years I'd been able to decipher breathing patterns and body movements to read him as well as if I'd been hearing him scream. On rare occasions I was able to elicit a healthy moan, but it was only after all of the planets in the freakin' universe aligned and I'd placed flowers on the altar of Venus. 

I took Kiefer's cock into my right hand and moved my left hand to his scrotum. I held his cock up toward his belly and began to lick him between the base of his penis and his balls. I soon shifted my body around and up onto my knees so I could more easily reach Kiefer's testicles. I took first the left one, then the right, then both of them into my mouth to suckle them lightly. He never said anything, but I knew he loved this. His buttocks always tightened and his body lifted upward when I sucked him this way. He pushed himself down in the bed, trying to get his balls farther into my mouth. I began to slowly move my right hand up and down his penis.

I reluctantly relinquished Kiefer's balls and looked up at him. His eyes were closed. I'd hoped they were open. I moved my head up to his penis and began to lick the tip. I drew circles around it with my tongue. His breathing became more labored and his chest began to move in and out visibly. When I began to move all the way down on Kiefer's penis, he did make a soft noise that I soon discovered was a whispered 'no.' His hands moved down to the sides of my head and he gently pulled me up to him. The left half of my body draped over his, then he placed his right hand on my left shoulder and rolled me over onto my back. He didn't want head. He wanted to fuck.

The fingers of Kiefer's right hand began to trace circles around my left nipple. His lips went to the right one. Long ago I'd taught my man to suck hungrily like an impatient infant boy. He hadn't forgotten the lesson. He'd managed to even out the finger pressure with the sucking pressure of his lips and it drove me crazy. I am not the silent type. Kiefer always knew audibly when he'd hit the right combination, and these moans served to make him even hotter. His right leg went over my legs and he shoved his body closer to mine, thrusting harder and harder. I could feel his stiff cock poking in my side.

I wrapped my arms around Kiefer's neck and pulled him on top of me. He began kissing me hard on the lips. That was unusual. His kisses were usually soft, sensual, and sometimes playful. I returned the pressure on his lips, but remained curious. Kiefer's body was supported by his right forearm as the fingers of his left hand ran through my hair. Suddenly the body weight shifted, the fingers disentangled themselves from my hair, and the left forearm took over the support position. Kiefer's right arm found the pillow on the other side of the bed and he went up on his knees. His left arm lifted my buttocks and the pillow went under me to raise my pelvis. This meant some serious fuckin' was about to occur. Bring it on, love.

While still on his knees, Kiefer placed his right hand on my left inner thigh, trailing his fingers upward to my wet opening. He stopped, looked at me, then grinned. Ah, now here was my Kiefer. Playing games as he was wont to do. I knew what he wanted. I made a pouting face and said 'no' very petulantly.

"Do you want Mr. Stiffy to go in his hobbit hole?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, you'd better do what he wants then, or he'll not play with you anymore."

Bullshit, I thought. He'd play. But what Mr. Stiffy, uh, Kiefer, wanted was o.k. with me. Besides, it always made him crazy. I slowly, very slowly, trailed my right index finger down from my neck, stopping to circle each nipple, then my navel, then stopping altogether where my pubic hair began. Kiefer's eyes were big. He waited expectantly. I made him wait a few seconds longer. Finally, I moved my finger into my wet pussy and made an exaggerated point of getting it, my finger, very juicy. I then extracted my finger with great care, so as not to lose any of the precious fluid, then I leisurely moved my index finger up to my mouth. With deliberate wickedness, I hesitated to place it inside my mouth, savoring what the taste would be, making expectant moaning sounds.

Kiefer's face begged me to taste my juice. I wasn't going to make it easy. I felt bad about it sometimes, but if I wasn't going to get loud moaning during sex, at least I could work for hearing that voice. 

"Would Mr. Stiffy like me to lick my finger?"

A very hoarse, very raspy, almost two-syllabled 'yes' followed the question.

"Well, he's going to have to ask me nicely."

He didn't hesitate, and he didn't whine. The voice was husky, not babyish. Commanding, not begging.

"Mr. Stiffy would very much appreciate it if you'd lick the pussy juice off your finger."

Well, that about did it for me. Watching him watching me, hearing his command in that assured voice, I was about to explode. I obediently placed the finger in my mouth, but kept it open so Kiefer could see my tongue go round and round my finger. Then I began to lick up and down. His increased rate of breathing and the pressure he now placed on my thighs with his hands told me he was getting hotter by the second. I quickly moved my hand back down to my pussy and reloaded, so to speak, my finger. Quick as a wink I had it back in my mouth, this time with lips wrapped tightly around it, sucking it in the same way I loved to suck his cock. Kiefer's finger went into my pussy, but didn't linger. He withdrew it and moved it to my face. I removed my finger from my mouth and he replaced it with his. As I sucked his finger and tasted my own juices, I wanted Kiefer's penis deep inside me. 

I again dipped my finger in my juices, but this time brought it to Kiefer's lips. He allowed me to run my finger around his mouth, tracing the outline of his lips, then he opened and took my finger inside. Within seconds, the scene shifted. No more fingers anywhere, Kiefer was guiding his cock into me. The pillow underneath me allowed him to stay upright on his knees. It also allowed some deep thrusting which seemed immediately to take place. Sometimes when we fucked I didn't really know where I was. Kiefer had been right earlier. Mr. Stiffy was serious this morning. Kiefer's strokes were deep and measured. The kind of strokes that, if continued long enough, could induce one of those dizzying, heart-stopping orgasms. To hell with OJ and Wheaties to start your day. Mr. Stiffy wins at any odds.

The strokes remained measured and deep, but they increased in pressure as well. Soon, the movements were pushing me up in the bed and my whole body was moving rhythmically with Kiefer's thrusts. He was slamming me up against the headboard, over and over. I'm not sure how long this went on. Long enough for me to think perhaps my heart had actually stopped at one time. Then came this long, almost painful, orgasm. God, it felt so good it hurt. A good hurt. A very good one. I finally had the presence of mind to open my eyes and look at Kiefer. His face was contorted. I had opened them just in time. He flung his head back and all I could see were the veins in his neck. They pumped blood. His Adam's apple was apparently trying to jump out onto the bed. The still powerful thrusts had slowed and become grinding, circular motions. Kiefer was experiencing a long orgasm as well.

I stared up at him, watching the orgasm affect his body. I was past mine and in that delicious state of afterglow or whatever in the hell they call it. I wasn't at all sure I was glowing. It seemed more like sweating like a pig. I was drenched, and my hair was sticky and plastered to my cheeks. Kiefer's grinding had stopped. I reached my left hand down, wiggled into a position where I could cup his testicles. He moaned. God. He actually moaned. Not loud. But it was unmistakable. Yea. Score! Thank you, Venus.

Kiefer's head came back down, his face no longer contorted. He had a dreamy look on his face. His eyes were fuzzy, unfocused. He grinned down at me.

"Mr. Stiffy is stiff no more!"

That wasn't exactly true. He was still partially erect. But certainly not like he'd been moments before.

The playful mood reigned. Kiefer bent down and snuggled his nose into my left cheek. He then moved his lips close to my ear and began to babble.

"I love my hobbit hole. It's snug and warm inside."

"Oh, hell, you hobbits like any warm hole, I'm sure," I retorted.

He chuckled.  "Uh, uh," he said in his baby voice. "Only got one hobbit hole called home."

"Bullshit. How many homes you got? No wait. Don't answer that, please."

He chuckled again, rolling over onto his back and me with him, a movement which pulled his penis out of me.

"Ay," he screamed in mock horror. "The hobbit hole has sprung a leak!"

I made a fist and whacked him good on the left shoulder. He screamed in feigned injury.

"It sprang a leak because the owner doesn't take proper care of it!" I shrieked. "One cannot expect a home to stay in good repair if it is so often abandoned."

We both began to laugh uncontrollably. I loved Kiefer's laugh. It was infectious, and the more he laughed, the more I laughed. When our giggles subsided, I planted a wet smooch on his still sweaty forehead.

"Gotta pee," I said. "Want me to bring back a towel?"

"Nah. I'm comin' with ya. Gonna take a quick shower and then fix us an obscene breakfast."

"What's an obscene breakfast," I asked as we both rolled out of bed.

"Oh, you know. Obscenely bad for you. Eggs. Sausage. Potatoes. All that stuff. Aren't you hungry, Miss Piggy?"

He was making fun of my generally huge appetite, especially morning appetite. He wasn't that fond of morning meals, so I knew he was doing the breakfast thing for my benefit.

"Sounds great, Kermit. I'll have a side of frog, too."

"Huh. Who told you frog sides were good? No. It's frog penis that's good. A real delicacy. Small, but delicious. Best when sautéed in Alsatian beer."

I shook my head in wonder. Where did he come up with this shit. It was going to be a good day.



Back Door Woman: Sunday, A.M.



Back Door Woman: Sunday, A.M.

When Kiefer awoke, P.J. slept soundly in his arms. He headed to the bathroom, took care of business, then crawled back into the warm space he'd just vacated, back into her bed, their bed, wrapping his arms around her again. His mind wandered as he waited for her to awaken.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Safe. Feel safe holding her. Her holding me. Safe and warm and safe. And warm. Trust. Trust her. More than anyone else in the world. She knows shit. God, she knows shit. Shit she could use. Never has. Never will. I know that. Know that. I trust her. Let me not to the marriage of true minds / admit impediments. She's breathing so softly. My hope. Hope? Maybe my despair. My hope, my despair. My saving grace, my condemnation. Ah, condemn. My safety, my danger. My love, my hate. No. Not love hate. My buoy, my weight. The star to every wandering bark. Bark. A boat. A small boat. My boat. Bobbing aimlessly on the waves without the guiding star when she's not there. When she's gone. I don't know if I can do this again. Fine. She wants to be alone, humph, alone, while she's in L.A. Fine. Let her be alone. She wants him. Fine. It won't be forever. It won't. God, please tell me it won't. Be forever.

Deep breath. Smell her hair. Her skin. Her. Always smells so good. So good. Fresh. Remember the very first time I smelled her hair. A bar. Montana. Drunk. Not too, but drunk. No, I was drunk. She walked in. No, she floated in. We all looked at her. Stared at her. Kids. Sorta kids. Kids compared to her. Lookin' at a woman. Shit. I'll buy her a beer. They laughed. Laughed at me. I'll show 'em. I'll buy her a beer and fuck her, too. They laughed harder. Why are they laughing at me? I'm a cowboy. I'm a skier. I'm fuckin' Kiefer fuckin' Sutherland. She'll be glad to let me fuck her. Hmmm. Yeah, right. How stupid could one man be. One kid.

I walked right up to her. Right up to the bar where she sat. I tapped her right on the shoulder. She turned. My mouth wouldn't work when she looked at me. Straight in the eyes. No flinching. My brain was talking. My mouth wasn't. I heard them laughing. John, was it John, came over, too. You'll have to forgive my friend, ma'am, he said. Said to her. Forgive him. The cat's got his tongue, he said.

She didn't look at him. She looked at me when she answered him. Straight in the eyes. 

Well, that's a shame, she said, doesn't he know there are better things to do with his tongue than let the cat get it?

Shit, John, or whoever it was, said. Shit, I guess. Was she talkin' about tongues? God.

My mouth moved. I still wasn't talking. How stupid, how stupid. Had I ever felt more stupid? Yeah. The first time we made love. No. Had sex. No, love. Sex? Whatever. We did it. No, not really. Stupid. Ahhh. At the bar, she turned back around. My head was spinnin.' Dizzy. I fell forward. Right on her. Right on her back. My face fell into her hair. It smelled so good. Fruity. Sweet. Deep, deep breath. Just like it does now. Sweet. I just stayed there on her. John, or whoever it was, pulled me off, away. No, no, don't move me. She smells so good. No. Nobody was moving me away now, though. If anybody was moving, it was J. Was she dreamin' of him? Pablo Schmablo?

Damn that internet shit Sarah gets into. I'd never have known. Well, maybe. Her current events assignment. Focus on service. Top report will be published in L.A. Youth Magazine. Dad, what'll I do for my report? What do you wanna do, Sarah? Something where people help other people. It's about service. Current service. All I could think of was J and her trips to Mexico and South America. No, she'd piss and moan about that . . . . Central and South America. What was the name of that group? Taos something. Yeah. Sarah, look up TAOS-CASA. Texans and Others Serve Central and South America. Went back to what I was doing and suddenly Sarah screamed bloody murder. Thought she'd been shot. God, what's the matter, what's the matter. Daddy, it's J, she screamed. J who I asked. Oh, Daddy, she gave me that look that teenage girls give. You know J who, Daddy. Long time ago. You used to live with her. Sarah didn't know. Know I still saw J. I didn't realize Sarah remembered her. It had been a very long time since J and I had lived together. Had J left her mark on my Sarah, too?

Oh, look at him. He's soooo-ohhhh hot. Who's hot, Sarah? The guy J's with. In the picture on the website. A hottie. Look, Daddy, he's a real hottie. Hottie's ass. Who was this pompous hottie? Antonio Banderas looking. Hair. Long. Lots of long, dark hair. Lots of teeth. White, white teeth. Shiny, shiny riding boots. Polo pony. He held the reins of a polo pony. Who is that, Sarah? The caption says Dr. P.J. Stewart and Dr. Pablo Saavedra outside of Mexico City, Mexico, at Saavedra's ranch. What do you mean hot? He's pompous looking. Oh, he's not, Daddy, not pompous. My own daughter. A hottie, Daddy. Traitor. Was she dreamin' of him? Pablo Schmablo. Not Sarah. J.

Stupid. Why hadn't she thrown me out that first time we made love. Just thrown me out. Oh, I had to work for it. No fallin' in bed with this one. No, she had to fuckin' know me first. Know me. Trust me. Trust me? For what? Fuckin' what? Then I'd found out. God, I thought I was gonna die. I have to trust that you can be careful, control yourself, the first time. Just the first time. Why? Why would I want to control myself? Because. When it's been a long time for me, when it's been awhile, well, it hurts. I have to trust you to be careful. Hurts why. Because, because I'm small. Hell, I know you're small. I've been chasing you around for six damned months. You're small from running away from me. No, no, no, laugh, laugh, laugh. Here. I'm small here. She points between her legs. Was she fuckin' kidding? Are you fucking KIDDING me?

No. I'm not. That's why I have to trust you. And she did. Trust me, finally. And it didn't make any difference anyway the first time. I thought she was kidding. She wasn't. I entered. She flinched. Once twice three times a lady. No. No. Not this tight. No. I'm gettin' off. I haven't moved yet. Her face in pain. NO. I don't want her face in pain. Never. I'm done. Two seconds. One. So embarrassed. Embarrassed. No, no, baby, she said. No, sugar. It's all right. It's just bi-olllll-uh-gee, she croons. Just bi-ollll-uh-gee she expands the syllables in that Southern drawl. Why was she so nice. So nice.

She stirred beside me now. Made that little noise. A cross between an um and an ah. The one that always made me want to squeeze her. Hold her tight. Hold her. To me. God, could she be more . . . more . . . . Was she, did she, make that noise for him? Was he nailin' her? No, that's not important. The question was is she nailin' him? Yeah, that's the question. Pablo fucking Schmablo can't prounounce your last name. Pediatrician. Famous. Private oil and gas family. Suppliers to Pemex. Freakin' suppliers to Pemex, for Chrissakes. He'd be a fuckin' billionaire one day. Oh, and I'd found out more. Was driven to. Hello, Dr. Saavedra I'd practiced saying the name. Jason Smalley here. L.A. Youth Magazine. Lookin' to do a feature on TAOS-CASA and know you've been a part of it for awhile even though you live in Mexico City. What of the people you work with? I've heard others speak of Dr. Stewart. Oh? You know her? Know her, he said. I've been asking her to marry me for years. Oh? And? I think she's finally softening he laughed. You think I should interview her, too? Not unless you want to fall in love. He laughed again. Laughed. Fuckin' Schmablo.

She stirred again. Began the stretch. The morning stretch she always did, arching in a backwards 'c,' pushing her pelvis forward. The stretch always turned her body over and facing me if she weren't already.

"Owwwww," she moaned as she turned. A higher pitch now.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwww." Not a good sound. She was in pain.

I leaned up on my arm. Leaned down to see her face. 

"What is it? What is it, J? What's wrong?"

She shifted her weight again.

"Owwwwcha." The sound drug out.

She looked up at me. Big eyes. Wide-eyed. Big, green eyes. Looking at me so innocently. Blinking, blinking, no other expression on her face. Then they narrowed. The eyes. Looked at me still. Suddenly wicked. Mischievous. A smile now, a smile to match the wicked eyes. She held up her hand, crooked the index finger, and motioned me down to her lips. I turned my ear to her mouth. She began to whisper.

"I'm sore, you big, bad boy." She licked my ear and continued. "You banged me good last night. Good and proper." She pulled away, smiling still.

Ohhhhhhhhh. Good and proper. I don't know how proper it was, but it was definitely good. I rested on the pillow again, my arms tightening around her. My left hand found her breast. Her nipple. I loved these breasts. These nipples. My fingers twirled the right one, pulled and teased. She squirmed and giggled. 

"Stop it, you tittie baby," she said.

"Yes, I am," I freely confessed. "Yes, I definitely am." I gave her what I hoped was an engaging smile, continuing my teasing.

I shifted us around, took her breasts into my hands, and buried my face between them, snuggling back and forth until I found just the right position between the soft globes. I loved to hide my head in her breasts. My favorite place in the world. The place I long to be when I am . . . when I am . . . what? Tired, angry, sad, confused, hungry, lonely. Unsure. Afraid? Am I? Afraid? Then she pushed my head up a bit and kissed me and smiled again. Smiled. And sighed. A nice, long sigh. A satisfied sigh. I wanted to wrap my whole body around her and hold her tight. Tight. Keep her satisfied. Smiling. Don't want to lose you. Again. Lose you.

"Gotta pee," she said, and rolled from under me and out of bed and was half way to the bathroom door before I knew it. She didn't close the door. She just sat down on the toilet. She never had. Closed the door. Not self-conscious at all. Sometimes I wondered if I should put a post-it note on the back door to remind her to put on clothes before she went outside. She simply wasn't uncomfortable without clothes. She wasn't uncomfortable with bodily functions. Uh, oh. That face again.

"Owwwwwwwwww."

I crossed the space between bed and open bath and was kneeling in front of her in seconds.

"What is it?"

She'd had her eyes closed. She snapped them open.

"How'd you get here so fast, you little booger?" she asked. "I'm all right," she assured me.

She kissed my forehead. I loved it when she kissed my forehead.

"It hurts when I pee." She explained after my questioning look. "The urine. Raw insides. Don't mix. Owwwwwwwwww."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby," I started. She interrupted my apology with another wicked smile.

"You may be sorry," she said, stressing the you, as she leaned her forehead to mine, "but I'm not!" she exclaimed. She leaned back and tilted her head to one side. Her smile was no longer wicked, but sweet.

She finished urinating and reached for some toilet tissue. She wiped herself and began to stand up, reaching behind her to flush as she rose. I rose, too.

"I think I'll sit in a tub full of hot water for a few minutes. Might make me feel better."

"Do you think that'll help?" I asked.

"I dunno. It's probably like fallin' off a horse. You know what they say."

"Yeah. You break your fuckin' neck," I laughed.

"No, silly. You have to get back on. Maybe I should forget the bath and just jump your hot bones!" She grinned a depraved grin as she reached down and tweaked my cock.

All right with me, I thought. But she was already reaching inside the bathtub to turn on the faucet. God, what a backside. All of it. The ass. The back. The thighs. Shit. Calm down. Calm down. Buttocks like two peeled cantaloupe halves, nestled side by side. Round. So round. The back. Soft. Soft and muscular. Defined. Thank you, Bowflex. She did it faithfully. Bowflexed, that is. Ohhhhhh. God. God. She'd let me fuck her on the Bowflex once. Shit. How hot. How hot had that been? I couldn't talk for two days. Fucked her on the fuckin' Bowflex. God. See it when I close my eyes.

She continued to adjust the water temperature, getting it just right. Moving to get the bubble bath, pour it in, leaning over to pour it in. I could reach out, grab her, and fuck her now, too. But that's not what I want. I want to fuck her slow. Slow and easy and long and let her know how much I care. Last night? Last night was all about Pablo Schmablo. I wanted to fuck him out of her mind. Wanted her to think I was the best fuck she'd ever had. But now, this morning, I want to ease in and ride her slow, slow, slow. Snuggle into my hobbit hole. Hold her and watch her face. Watch her expressions. Watch those eyes. So few wrinkles around those eyes. I had a hundred times more. Wrinkles. So few signs of her aging though I knew she had. Gray hair that she refused to cover, claiming petulantly that I'd given her each and every one and they were a testament to her fortitude. Within his bending sickle's compass come. Make her happy. Want to.

"Want coffee? I'll go down and make the coffee. Bring it up. And some toast? Want toast?" I asked.

"Coffee and toast would be wonderful," she acknowledged. "You want in the bath, too?" she inquired with a delicious grin, winking at me.

Hell, why not. Shit. Do I have a choice? Do men have choices when we . . . we . . . Never mind.

"Sure," I said. "Leave room for me. And don't play with yourself while I'm gone. No sweeping out the hobbit hole." She stuck out her tongue. Then she wiggled it in an evil motion.

I shook my head, feigning embarrassment. "I'll be back up as soon as I get the coffee and toast made."

I headed down to the kitchen, glancing back long enough to see her ease into the tub full of bubbles. Graceful. Lithe. Bendable. The positions she could manage. Yoga. Yes. Yessssssssss shaking my head back and forth in wonder. Down the stairs and into the kitchen to make coffee and toast. Should I make regular coffee, or flavored. Or tea. She likes that, too. Does he know that? Know that hot tea soothes her? Does he know that sometimes Miss Stubborn needs a firm hand? My firm hand? On her bottom? That she likes it? That she cries when she watches the Blue Angels fly? Calls me 'daddy' when she's had too much wine? Can hold more tequila shots than a boatload of Marines? Moans when I touch her special place? Place. Do you know that place, Pablo Wablo? Probably not. Because you're a fuckin' Schmablo, that's why. You don't know anything about her. Ask her to marry you. Stupid. You're stupid, Schmablo. Would she? Will she? Is she? Is that what she wants? No, no, no, no, no.

Filter in. Coffee in. Regular. Water in. Turn it on. Turn broiler on. Get the bread. Butter. Knife. Make the toast. Put in oven.

Ask her, you pussy. Just ask her. But what if she says 'yes' and invites you to the wedding. Fuck. I didn't invite her to mine. No. No, I didn't. What a strange time. Weird. The first part of my marriage. Second marriage. Strange but not bad. Then the middle of it, the marriage. The year of the freeze. The iceberg. The time that land forgot the land that time forgot. The year that taught me that no matter where I was I needed to know she was there, she, J, not my wife, somewhere, that I could hear her voice if I called. That she wouldn't hang up when she saw my number on caller ID or heard my voice when she picked up. The year I learned that she, J, not my wife, meant what she said. Not like the others. Learned that she is strong enough to follow through. Although I already knew that. Already knew. The year I learned that I could not live, no, function, no. Function yes, live no. Unless I could keep in touch. Touch my touchstone. But not that year. Bad. Bad. 

I shook off the feeling I had worked myself into, checked the toast. Be reasonable.

I'm not a jealous man. Why am I letting this Schmablo thing get to me? Why? It's so stupid. What if she is fuckin' him? So what? She's had relationships since ours ended. I know that. I'm not stupid. She told me of one. The one that started in the iceberg year and lasted for almost one more. Wonder what stupid thing he did to fuck it up. She didn't say. Wonder how stupid he feels now? How lost? Bereft? Is that the word? Bereft? Did he feel as vacant and useless as I did when I fucked up? Not once, but twice? When the light in his universe went out? His loss, his loss, his loss . . . . Should I take something up for the toast? Jelly? Preserves? God, I love J's preserves. Pear. Is there pear in here? Door. Refrigerator door. That's where they, ah, there they are. I'm glad I decided on the coffee. Good with the pears.

I laughed at myself on the way up the stairs. What a fuckin' idiot I must look like. Tea tray. Good china. No clothes. Fuckin' naked. Huh.

I entered the bedroom, glanced to the right into the semi-open bathroom. O.K. She's paying attention, looking at me. Just ask her. Do it. She's always saying just get it out. Whatever is bothering you. Here goes. Deep breath. Another deep breath. Open your mouth and speak. Why does she look unhappy. Well, maybe not unhappy. Sad. Eyes sad. Sad eyes. Shit. Too late. She's talking now. 

"Why are you here?" she said softly as I crossed the room to the tub. 

"What do you mean, why am I here? I've brought the toast and coffee. You said I could get in the bath, too," I grinned.

"No. Not here," she pointed her finger down to the bottom of the tub. "I mean here, here," she said as she swept both arms in front of her and then out to her sides.

I placed the tray with the tea and toast on the wide edge of the huge bathtub. I crawled in facing J. I awaited her explanation.

She continued. "Are you here," she halted, then began again. "Are you here to tell me goodbye?" she asked.

I was stunned. Goodbye. Is that what she's saying? To me?

"What the hell are you talkin' about, goodbye?" I managed to get out.

"Are you here to end it? Us? I just want to know now. Before you leave. Please tell me. It's not fair not to."

"End it? Me? Are you sure you're not the one ending it?"

"Me? Why would you say that?" She stared at me. "Why?" she asked again. 

I paused. "I thought you were ending it," I barely got out, as if it would not be true if I whispered it.

She looked baffled. Not defensive. Baffled. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again. She spoke slowly.

"What in the world have I done that would lead you to believe that?" she asked me.

She continued. "Why is it that you think I'd want to stop seeing you? Please explain. I really don't understand." Her head shook slightly from side to side.

So. What do I tell her. That I know about Pablo Schmablo. 

Deep breath. Just say it, you idiot.

"I . . . uh . . . I," I started. I became resolved. Raised my head high. "I thought you were more interested in Doctor," I emphasized the word doctor, "Pablo Saavedra." I got it out, but probably not pronounced right.

Her eyes widened. "Paaahhhhbbbbloooooooo?" she asked, making his name at least four syllables.

"Yes," I hissed. "Pablo. Dr. Pablo Sah-sah-sah whatever it is."

She was laughing. Well, her eyes were laughing anyway. Why the fuck is she laughing? Just because I can't pronounce that name?

From her smile came these words.

"Kiefer. Are you kidding?" She looked astonished. Her hands came up out of the water, palms turned upward. "Pablo? Where'd you get that? Pablo is a friend." She looked at me expectantly.

"Only a friend?" I asked. "What kind of a friend? Am I," I stressed the I, "a friend?"

She was chuckling. Fucking chuckling. How could she chuckle? Fuckle chuckle.

Her head was moving back and forth, side to side in disbelief. Green eyes sparkling.

"Of course you're my friend," she stressed 'course.' "You're the only person in the universe who knows about my husband. The only person in the universe who has ever been to my West Texas hideaway. The only person in the universe who can make me laugh until I puke!"




Back Door Woman: Sunday, A.M.



I turned away. Quickly. Then back again, challenging her.

"He's a friend, J. You just said. So doesn't he know certain things, too? And, if not, why not? Why don't you tell him these things?" I paused. Looked down. Looked back up at her again. "He says you're softening. He says you're getting close to saying 'yes' to marrying him." I snapped out those last words.

She stared at me. Eyes again. Large and wide. Narrowed and questioning. Accusing.

"He said this to whom?" she inquired, eyes still narrowed.

"To meem, that's whom," I replied, not able to hide my frustration, or anger, or both.

"When did he say this to you? How?" she asked sharply.

I suddenly felt very stupid. Dare I tell her? She'll be livid. Get it over. Get it over.

"I . . . uh . . . I called him on the phone. Pretended I was a reporter and asked him questions about TAOS-CASA so I could find out about you. You and Schmaaaaaablooo." I grew braver. "There. Are you happy?" I can't believe I just told her that. She is going to explode. She cannot abide lying.

Her eyes were huge, full of disbelief. They had not yet moved to the mad stage with all the gold flecks in them. No gold yet. No, don't wanna go for the gold with J. What is she doing? Her head is down. What, what, why is she sobbing. Looking down, sobbing. Oh, God. It's true. She's going to marry him. She's crying because she doesn't want to tell me. Shit. Fuck. What now. Now head up and she is crying but she is laughing, too. She's not going to kill me? No?

"You little asshole," she laughed. Her hands briefly touched my cheeks, then fell away. "You actually called the man? Fucking called him?" I shook my head affirmatively, but tentatively. She resumed. "Kiefer." She shook her head slowly from side to side. "You have had me scared to death since yesterday evening. I thought you'd come to tell me goodbye, except that you were going to be a chicken shit and not say it. Just fuck me goodbye and ride off into the sunset." Her hands came to my face again as she spoke, palms to my cheeks. She was still laughing and crying. I was confused. Her laughing crying. Me a chicken shit.

"Fuck you in the sunset?" I asked, removing her hands. 

"No, you idiot. Ride into the sunset. Fuck me then ride."

She said nothing more. "Why are you crying?" I asked. "And laughing? What's so fuckin' funny? I didn't come here to say goodbye and I'm not a chicken shit. Do you think I'm such a shit that I'd actually do that?"

"I'd hoped not. But you hadn't said anything. And you were acting so weird."

"Whaddya mean weird? I'm not weird."

Pregnant pause.

"Are you marrying him?" I asked, cautiously, softly.

She shook her head 'no.'

"Why?" I paused. "Because you don't love him?" I asked, more hopefully than I'd intended.

She shook her head 'no' again. What the hell does that mean? She does love him?

I tried again. "You mean you do love him, but you're just not marrying him?" Still no answer. I resumed. "What's the reason you're not marrying him? Tell me, J. Tell me why."

"I . . . well . . . I," she stuttered. She looked down. She was silent. How long is she going to be silent.

"Tell me, J." It was a command. I was frustrated.

"I," she started again. She looked up at me, slowly shaking her head left and right. She bit her top lip. "I can't," she said sadly, looked down, looked up again, straight in my eyes, "I can't," she repeated, blinked, "because I can't spell his last name."

Immediately her mouth formed a huge grin, splitting her face from side to side. Her eyes lit up like green Christmas light bulbs. The giggling began and would not stop. Her whole body shook, arms and shoulders moving up and down. Oh, god. She was kidding me, carrying me high. My heart was pounding. I slapped my forehead and then started hitting her left arm, then her right, with the palm of my right hand.

"You bitch," I laughed. "You scared shit outta me." 

Then I grabbed her by the upper arms, pulled her close. Unwillingly let her go when she pulled away. 

"Well, you, sir, scared the shit out of me." She paused, looked down, looked up again, shyly. "Not, really, I was just very sad." Another pause, looking down. She raised her eyes to mine. "So, you're not here to say goodbye?" she asked as she tilted her head to one side. 

"No," I shook my head. "I'm here to knock Pablo off his pedestal."

"Pablo's not on a pedestal. And you're not jealous." She looked me straight in the eyes. "What gives? Really?"

"I . . . uh. I don't know. I've asked myself the same question. But I don't know. I think my biological clock is ticking."

The eyes got huge again. Suddenly, she guffawed, practically snorted. Loud. She was laughing at me. At me.

"Biological clock? Good, god, Kiefer." Her body was quaking with laughter. I didn't see what was so funny. She guffawed yet again and then spoke. 

"You're a baby, you idiot," she grinned. "Your clock isn't even winding down yet. If it's the clock you're worried about, go out and spread some seed. You can have more babies. Just don't look at me 'cause you know I don't have the parts. Thank, god."

"Babies?" I shrieked. And I mean shrieked. I finished my sentence. 

"I'm not talking about babies."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?" she asked, puzzled. "That's usually what people mean when they say biological clock."

"I'm talking about my time to get . . . to keep," I hesitated then finished, "a relationship. That clock."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. They softened and she took my left hand in both of hers, kissed the back of it.

"Oh, sweetie. I don't think a relationship by average people's standards will ever be in your stars." Then she grinned. A not nice, smart ass grin. "You're a Sagittarian. You're a Canadian. You're a bona fide psychotic." She was still grinning.

"Fuck you," I said. I wanted to really hit her. I was hurt. "J. I mean it. I'm serious. I'm sad."

Her face. Pain. She reached for me. Held out both arms and took me into her safe world. My safe world.

After a moment or two, she let me go and pulled back, looking me straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was tying to cheer you up. Do you want me to get the fuck outta your life? You know I will if that makes you happy. You do know that, don't you?" She was quite serious. I could have squeezed her to death for that.

"I don't want you out of my life. I can't live without you in my life. I know that. You know that. Why say it? Why say that I could?"

"Well, what do you want? You know I'm here for you. You know the rules. Abide by them and I am here. I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You know that by now, surely."

I didn't respond and she continued. "What's up with the Pablo thing, sweet?"

"I dunno," I said. I was serious. I didn't know.

"So, you're thinking I'm married to Pablo, and . . ."

I interrupted her, "Schmablooo."

"Stop it, shithead. His name is Pablo."

I mocked her. "Stop it, shithead. His name is Pablo."

She smacked me, hard, on the chest.

Silence. Then I asked her.

"Did you really, really think I would walk out and not say anything?"

"I didn't know." She said it softly. God, she really did think that. I must be a bigger shit than I thought. I'd hurt her more than once. I knew that. But for her to think that? Her voice interrupted my train of thought.

"So, I'm married to Pablo and what?" she continued. "You didn't finish."

"And, so, you're married. And, so, maybe he's not so understanding."

"Of what," she asked.

"Of . . . of us. So, I never . . . I never see you again." Finally, I got it out, as much for me as for her. No, more for me. That's what it is. That's what I'm afraid of. Ahhhhh.

"And this would bother you?" Her head tilted to the side as she asked this question.

"Oh, for god's sake, J. No, it wouldn't bother me at all. Fuck off and move to Katmandu for all I care." I was exasperated. Miss her. Bother me. How stupid.

She grinned. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

She was quiet for about half a minute. A long time. Then she looked at me. And spoke.

"You know that I've always tried to be honest with you, right? And that I've always encouraged you to be honest, too? I mean, I know you're honest. What I mean is honest about wanting out? Or whatever bothers you. About us. Or anything."

I was shaking my head affirmatively as she spoke. She was not clear, obviously, about where she wanted to go with this.

"Kiefer. I am a stubborn, old broad. I . . . "

I interrupted the 'stubborn old broad' talk by rolling my eyes.

She began again. "I can't figure out why I compromise my principles for you. Perhaps I don't really have any. Perhaps you just make me . . . well . . . compromise. In spite of my resolve, in spite of being a stubborn old broad," she threw me a shut up look, "I just can't seem to live without you. I don't ever want to be without you. For the rest of my life. I can live without fucking you. But I don't know if I can live without hearing you. Hearing from you. Knowing how you are. Being aware of your ups and downs. I learned from our, well, our 'off' time a few years ago that I care greatly about your well-being. Do you think that I would marry someone, commit to someone, and fail to provide a way to continue to have contact with you?"

I stared at her. Blinked. So she is marrying him. And keeping the contact door open. I said as much. "You're marrying him and going to send me an occasional e-mail."

She looked annoyed. "I am not marrying anybody!"

"Would you marry me?" I inquired matter-of-factly.

"Oh, God, no," she said, shaking her head left and right. "First off you don't mean that and second off I wouldn't last two months! I'd murder you. Really. Dead. Prison attire is orange. No woman should wear orange."

I laughed. She'd made me laugh, as usual. But something still bothered me. I thought for a moment. We eyed one another rather cautiously. Finally, I spoke. "I think I'm really mad that you thought I'd leave you without saying anything."

She looked at me. Closely. "I don't blame you if you're mad," she said. "It wasn't nice of me. I think I made it O.K., your leaving, by telling myself that you'd only do it, not say anything, because it would hurt too much to tell me. Made me feel better anyway."

"You really thought I was saying goodbye?"

"Yessss. You showed up unexpectedly, unannounced . . ." Pause. She drew an audible breath. A strange look. Big eyes. "Oh . . . my . . . god. You were trying to catch him here, weren't you, you little shit?" she screamed. Slapped my arm. "You little fuckhead!" She gave me a light slap on the side of my head, then rubbed the same place softly with her warm, damp palm. "You thought he might be here, didn't you? Well, let me tell you something, fuckhead, it would not have been pleasant." She was shaking her head up and down now, quickly, shallowly. "I know. I know what it's like. What it's like to see, to see . . . ."

She trailed off and looked down at the remaining bubbles.

I knew what she was thinking. I took her upper arms in my hands, squeezed them softly. She looked up. Looked me straight in the eyes. Tears brimming on the edges. Oh, god, no, please don't cry. Can't bear it when you cry.

"I'm sorry that you're sad." She reached out and touched my left cheek. Touched it softly, then let her hand fall. "I'm sorry that you think you need to be in a relationship and it doesn't seem to work out for you. I can't fix that for you, sweet."

I dropped my hands from her arms. She smiled wryly. "You're not a very tactful man, y'know. You're not exactly interested in monogamy. You're not exactly interested in being with the same person twenty-four seven. In fact, when you're working, you're not interested in much of anything else. What can I say? You don't behave in such a way as to make a permanent relationship possible. Well, easy anyway. You get bored too easily!"

"I know. I do know that, y'know. But, but I am growing. I am getting older. I'm not the kid you knew so many years ago. I think about some things differently." I looked her in the eyes. Those green, frank, loving, forgiving eyes.

She smiled. "Are you? Growing? What's different for you now?" She looked genuinely interested.

Hmmm. Deep breath.

"I know that I'm an idiot. I know that I'm crazy for not being with you all the time, holding you, keeping you near, making you happy." I meant it.

Her smile now was a sad one. A smile, but sad.

"That's sweet of you, baby. But you know that that's not possible. You know that we would both be miserable . . . for different reasons."

I couldn't talk anymore. Too deep right now. I looked down at the bubbles. Picked up a handful and blew them towards her face. She smiled. Different now. She understood.

I put my head down, raised my eyes and shot her an evil look. "Wanna play horsey," I growled.

"Horsey?" She sat up straight. Eyes round. "Me horsey, you horsey?" she asked, a tinge of wickedness in her eyes.

"No, no. You hobbit hole, me horsey," I exclaimed.

"Ah. So many 'h' words. I can't keep 'em straight." She looked into my eyes intently. Purposefully.

"Do you really," she emphasized 'really' as she reached out to touch lightly my arm, "want to play horsey, or are you just trying to please me?" she tenderly asked.

I knew what had made her ask this. One of my old hang-ups. I thought I'd convinced her that I had really changed about the horsey thing. At least, with her anyway. I'd even done it with other women, a few.

"Both," I assured her. I reached out to touch her face. "I really want to play horsey. And I really want to please you. God, J. I guess I just can't explain, convince. I . . . am fine, fine, with this now. Really I am."

She didn't look convinced. I tried to ease her concern, make her laugh. "You're a good little shrink. A good little shrink with a tight ass. A good little shrink with a tight ass and an even tighter hobbit hole!" I explained as my head bobbed up and down, emphasizing certain words as I spoke them.

She didn't react how I thought she would. I expected her to smack me and laugh. Instead, she leaned over and placed her cheek on my chest. The water was no longer warm enough to enjoy. I placed my arms around her, hugging her butt with my hands.

"Wanna get out now? Water's . . . "

"Cold," she finished for me. "Yesss."

J quickly got out of the tub. I wasn't as quick. My mind darted to the first time we played horsey. J introduced me to woman on top. Not that I didn't know about woman on top. I just didn't want woman on top. Too much control. Theirs. I remember the first time. Well, with J. I suppose I'd probably done it before. When a young Turk. Still able to keep it up when really drunk. I'm sure I must've. But I don't remember it. And I remember the others. The others since. Since J taught me. Soothed me into it. No, not me in control she said. You. You control. Your hands on my waist, my hips. You control how fast. How slow. How deep. You. You control. Yeah. Like she wasn't in control from the first second. Thank god, or we wouldn't be about to play horsey now. 

"Are you coming?" I heard her ask in a really depraved tone.

I looked up. She was wet. Glistening. Lips parted. Eyes dancing. Nipples hard, hard, poking out and calling the horsey. Questioning, asking again, even more depraved. "Are you coming," and she stressed the word coming in a most wanton way.

"Uh." I laughed. "Maybe. Almost."

"Well, stop it, boy. Grab it and hold it in!" she giggled. "C'mon," she urged, "get outta the tub."

I climbed out. Cock leading the way.

She stood in front of me, still wet, holding out her left hand to me. I took it with my right. We headed, both wet, to the bed.

I wanted this. I wanted to fuck her slow, too. Me on top. Slow. But where I was now I wouldn't last as long as I wanted to. But next time. After this. I could last. But there's enough for her to ride. Ride the horsey.

J leapt into the bed. The middle of it. Faced me on her knees. Laughing. She clapped her hands in front of her. Clap, clap, clap, clap.

"Let's play horsey, daddy!" she squealed and bounced up and down, still on her knees. "Let's play horsey!" She looked younger than her years. Her face full of mischief.

I just stood, watching her, shaking my head. She killed me. Just killed me. Made my cock rock hard. Like when she does the 'daddy, I've been a baaad little girl' thing. I was too busy staring at her, wondering at her, to move.

She patted the bed with one hand, then extended the other out to me, palm up. She bent the fingers in, then extended them again, repeatedly, calling the horsey.

"C'mere, big fella," she soothed. "C'mon." The fingers kept up their invitation.

I jumped into the bed, keeping up the theme. "It's a rough horse, little girl. You'd better be ready to ride!"

"Ooooo. I'm a good rider, really I am. Wanna see?" she asked. So wicked.

"Ya," I said. "I vish to see you ride the horsey."

I was on my back, reaching to get more pillows to put behind me. I wanted a good view, an elevated view. She helped me get the pillows in place then leaned over me, suddenly serious. She began to kiss me on the mouth. Soft, then harder, then soft again, ending by licking my lower lip.

She spoke very softly. "I'm glad you're not saying goodbye. I'm glad that I'll see you again." She ran the back of her right hand across my forehead.

"Me, too."

We just stared at one another for a moment. Finally, I couldn't stand the building tension. Not the sexual tension, but the other. Fuckin' Schmablo. Not see her again. No, too hard.

"So," I said. "You gonna ride this thing backwards or forwards?"

She raised up. Looked down at me. "Do you have a preference, Mr. Horsey?" She chuckled.

"Uh, no. I'm just the beast of burden. Do as you will," I said, sighing loudly, as if I had no say in the matter.

"Beast of burden," she screamed. Her little fists came down on me, raining blows on my chest. "You jackass! If you consider it a burden, well, then, I'll just find another beast to carry me . . . I'll bet I can find someone . . . "

I interrupted her tirade, stopping her fists by wrapping my palms around them. "Calm down, Miss National Velvet, calm down. I'm a willing beast. And I'm the horse! I'm supposed to be the temperamental one, not you." She stopped struggling, but her face was still playfully arguing. She closed one eye in mock anger.

I continued to push her buttons. On purpose. "You're supposed to soothe your beast, y'know, treat him well, ride him because you need to . . . want to . . . have to." She was rolling her eyes, shaking her head. "You can't stay away from his beautiful form, his strength, his high spirits . . . "

She jerked her hands out of mine. She placed her palms on my face and pressed my cheeks tightly. "I'm gonna put a bit in your mouth if you don't shut up! Horses don't talk!"

She bent down and started kissing me again. Good kisses. Sweet then fiery kisses as she progressed. She raised her body, left knee came over to straddle me, her right one remaining on my left side. She leaned down, let her nipples brush my chest. My cock was so hard it stuck into her belly, inviting her to ride now. C'mon, little girl. She moved her body down, took my cock in her hand, encircled it with her palm and fingers, moved her mouth to the head, kissing it as if it were a long lost love. God. Watching her kiss my cock, feeling it, watching her feel it. Making love to it.

She abruptly sat up, placed her hand on my chest. Just as abruptly brought her right leg from a knee balanced position up to balancing on her foot. Her hand returned to the bed. The shift left her wide open. I knew my eyes were equally wide. What a sight. Her slit was red, wet, swollen with desire, need. My fingers involuntarily headed to her hole. But not to be. Her fingers beat mine. She placed them inside of her, eyes closed, deep breath. She removed the fingers and held out her hand, this time with fingers closed into a fist.




Back Door Woman: Sunday, A.M.



"Want some sugar, horsey?" she grinned. "Do you like sugar?"

She's crazy. Crazy. I smiled. Nodded that I liked sugar.

"Will you be a good horsey, a good fella, if I let you have some sugar?" she asked naughtily.

"Uh huh," I managed to get out. Just give me the damned sugar. Now.

Her fingers came to my mouth. I grabbed her wrist, and she extended her fingers. I opened my mouth and placed her wet fingers inside, sucking and licking her taste from them. My other hand went to her wet slit. Mr. Thumb found his target on her clit and two other fingers slid inside her, filled her. She gasped. Began to ride Mr. Thumb and his partners. But in less than a minute she extricated herself from this position and turned around, back facing me, on her knees again, straddling me. She was breathing hard, breathing hard along with me. She was in a hurry. No, slow down. I grabbed her hips.

She understood. Moved her body up along my midsection, still straddled. An even closer view. Closer. I could see the moisture, smell her juices. She rocked gently back and forth, pushing her wet pussy towards my face in the backward stroke. She was ready, ready to ride. But she prolonged it. 

Her body bent forward, opening her up even more. Her head, tongue, went to my inner thigh. It drove me crazy when she licked me here. She knew it. She licked, and bit, and sucked the flesh of my left inner thigh, blew her breath on the dampness. Now my cock was shoving into her chin, her neck, her chest. Bobbing up and down, wanting up and down.

My left hand went to her upper thigh, my right hand between her thighs. Wrong side up for Mr. Thumb on her nub. My finger slid into her, delving inside, feeling the tightness, the wetness, stroking in and out as she moaned, still rocking back and forth, shoving herself to me, on me. Mr. Thumb rubbed her nether eye. God. Joint so hard, so hard. Wanna feel her, feel it, feel me in her. She took my cock in her hand, changed sides with her tongue. Now the right thigh's turn. Didn't want to wait any longer. Didn't. "Ride," I said. I think my voice was hoarse. "Ride the horsey now."

She didn't hurry. She wasn't interested in my plea.

She was still bent forward. Still exposed. She cupped my balls, scooped them into her hand. Massaged them lightly, gently. Her hand shifted to holding just one, her mouth going for the other, sucking it in, running her tongue all around. Her other hand still held my cock. She moved her hand gently yet firmly up and down my shaft. Slow and easy, slow. No, ride me, I said. Wasn't I saying this out loud? Couldn't she hear me? Ride me, little girl. Ride me. My hips moved, up and down, up and down. Pushing my hard on up to the ceiling, pushing it into her palm, pushing it where she couldn't ignore, not ignore.

My breath was ragged, uneven. My finger now stabbed her opening, imitating what I wanted to do. She rocked on it. Wiggled. I wanted to grab her and slam her down on, over, my cock. But I didn't have to.

J suddenly sat up. She got still, muscles tensed. She was on the verge of getting off. She pulled off of my finger, placed her hands on either side of my knees on the bed, moved down in line with my throbbing cock, hovering, hovering. I reached down, grabbed myself with one hand, her left thigh with my other, ready to shove it in. She reached back, moved my hand away, replaced it with hers. She eased down over the head, eased down and moaned. She lowered herself only an inch or so more, slowly riding up and down over my swollen head, letting the head pierce her, over and over.

Her moans were soft, grunting noises. Ah uh. Ah uh. Ah uh with each stab. Noises so good, so good. Finally she lowered herself on down my shaft. Down. Sliding. Sucking. Tightening her muscles each time she moved up. I was mesmerized. Watching. Maybe not breathing. Sometimes I forget to breathe. My head shook side to side. I couldn't speak. I wanted to speak. I don't know what I wanted to say, but I couldn't say it even if I knew. Sliding up, down, watching her swollen lips suck me in and then release me, in, out. It was . . . what?

My left fingers went around her waist, my thumb moving to her lower back, gently stroking her special place. I reached with my right arm, reached to find her swollen nub with my fingers. I slowly began stroking her, up, down, up and down between her clit and where my cock rode into her. Her pace quickened, her movements more pronounced. She started rotating her hips around and around, grinding down on to my own. Oh-uhhhh. Oh-uhhhh. Oh-uhhhh. She said. The ohs matching her circles.

God. God. Swirling. Squirming. Her hips gyrating in time to her moans. She finally leaned backward, head dropped back, she rode me forward and back, forward and back, faster and faster until she exploded, my hand, fingers, pulling her lips, her bud, pinching, rubbing. Uh breath uh breath uh breath. She screamed, long, ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Whimpering now. Heh-uhm. Heh-uhm. Heh-uhm. Soft little whimpers, breathing in and out. God. Can't hold it anymore. The whimpering. 

I grabbed her hips, pushed down hard, rode into her, reaching her inner being, shoving my hardness into her, into her softness. She moved like a rag doll, arching with my thrusts, swaying back and forth, to and fro. I held her hard, pumped into her. She fell forward, milked my jewels, draining them, draining me, all, all into her. Aye, aye, aye, uh, huh, huh, uh huh. Me. I'm breathing again. Have to breathe to moan. Air. Gulping air. She, too. I can hear her. She's shaking. Lightly, softly shaking. Did I do that to her? To her? God, I wanna see her face.

Her hands, stroking my shins. Her cheek. Resting on my shin. Rubbing up and down. Her hands, touching the tops of my feet. Stroking them. Her tongue, licking my feet, left, lick lick, right lick lick, left lick lick, right llliiiiccckkk. Feet don't feel this good. Do they? Kiss. Kiss kiss. Kiss my toes. My big toe in her fingers, clamped between the thumb and forefinger.

She sang, sang in a sing song voice. A baby voice. A child.

"This little piggy went to market," and she moved to the next toe. "This little piggy stayed home." Move. "This little piggy had roast beef." Move. "This little piggy had none." No move. No move. She didn't move her fingers.

J suddenly lifted up, up off me and around, somehow facing me and straddling my stomach on her knees. She reached behind her, playfully encircled my softening cock with her fingers.

She was smiling, smiling happily. Laughing. "And this little piggy cried wee wee wee, all the way home," she finished, wiggling my cock gently to the wee wee wee.

I started laughing, too. We both looked at my stomach at the same time. A mixture of our juices was dripping from between her legs onto my belly. A delicious sight. She smiled wickedly.

"Damned hobbit hole. Yet another leak," I complained.

"Well, in future we're just gonna have to keep the hole stopped up as best we can," J said. She paused, eyed me. "Any suggestions? Any tools for the job?" she asked.

I grinned and nodded. She had said the word tools very naughtily. Two syllabled.

She reached her index finger down, scooped up part of the drippings, opened her mouth to partake. She put her finger in and immediately pulled it out, clean.

"More sugar, horsey?"

I nodded yes. She leaned down, mouth to mine. I opened. Her tongue darted in, proffered the nectar. I licked and sucked, receiving my share. Both our bellies were now smeared with juices. I wrapped my arms around her waist, then moved my hands to cup her butt. I squeezed her, moved her body up and down, rubbing the mixture between us, spreading it in, cementing us together with our sex sap. Her elbows were placed alongside my chest. She looked at me and smiled again. A nice smile.

"I like my horsey. He's a good ride." She winked at me then leaned down and placed her cheek on my chest, moving it 'til she got it just where she wanted it. I hugged her, hugged her close to me, arms back around her waist. Her left arm was bent, stretched above her, hand in my hair. Her right hand on my chest. Is there a warmer place? A safer place? Don't move yet. A moment more. Two or four before you hop up to pee. 

I couldn't help but think of poor Pablo. Poor Schmablo. So, she's not as enamored of you as you think. Take that, asshole.

She was a witch. As if she heard every word in my mind, she distinctly said "Dickhead."

"Ah," I returned. "What a lucky woman you are. I'm two fucks in one." 



Back Door Woman



"Do you need help finding that damned thing," referring to the spatula, he asked me in the trademark growl, a growl I knew had more to do with the immediate circumstances than with me.

"Nah. I got it," I said, and I stood up. I dropped the spatula into the nearby sink, quickly rinsed my hands, and told everyone it was time to eat up. Kiefer almost strangled on his suppressed laugh. He stood, still steadying himself with fingertips on the counter, and launched into light banter about Southern food, shifting the discussion away from the more serious topic that had been being discussed. Jared, starving as usual, almost made it up to the bar's front counter edge before Kiefer had zipped up. But all was well. I asked Kiefer to return Athos to his dogrun where he had dinner of his own. Kiefer did so, promising to play with him tomorrow.

Dinner went smoothly, even though all I could think about during the beginning of the meal was how hot I was, and I wasn't thinking about the temperature. The crotch of my shorts was drenched. I was on the edge, a perpetual edge, of getting off. We had all gathered 'round the rectangular outdoor table, Kiefer at one of the ends. I was to his immediate right. Several minutes into the meal, I felt Kiefer's right hand on my left leg. I went weak all over. I knew he was about to take me over that edge. I was so glad that I had on drawstring waist shorts. No zipper to fumble with. I reached under the table and undid the tie. Kiefer's hand went down my shorts and into my panties. We simply weren't in the right physical position for Kiefer to employ what we affectionately called The Thumb. It didn't matter though. I was so close to getting off that he wouldn't have to do much. Kiefer's right hand index and middle fingers nestled between my wet lips, found my clitoris, and began to make a small, circular motion. At the same time, he rested his left elbow and forearm on the table, leaned forward as if drawn into the conversation, and then inclined his head to the right to touch mine as I leaned mine towards him. He had begun the movement of his fingers very slowly, but because I was so near orgasm it was only seconds before he sped up the tempo and I was hard pressed to keep my body relatively still and my moans relatively quiet as I got off. I made some movements with my hands, pretending to arrange my plate. My legs were stiffened and stretched out before me, a little to the left to avoid touching Sarah's legs under the table. I squirmed a little, and Kiefer drew his hand from my panties and shorts and placed it around my waist. I turned to give him a soft kiss. He returned the kiss, pulled away chuckling, and asked if anyone needed him to pass anything. Seconds later, Kiefer gave me a mischievous smile and licked the fingers on his right hand, pretending to remove barbecue sauce. I smiled back.

Everyone enjoyed the food, the company, the after dinner conversation, and it was only moments after I imperceptibly signaled to Beth that it was time for them to all move on that she effortlessly maneuvered my friends through the French doors to retrieve handbags and car keys. After saying thank yous and goodbyes, my six friends were on their way out of my drive. 

As I closed the door and set the alarm, Kiefer headed to the kitchen. It had been remodeled two years ago, in part because of him. He loved to cook when he wasn't tired, and he had requested several of the changes in the formerly outdated work area. He was getting a drink of water from the refrigerator door when I reached the kitchen's entry. Kiefer drank quickly, leaning his head all the way back and turning the glass up so as not to miss a drop. Typical. When he had drained the glass, he placed it in the sink and turned to me.

"I'm glad you were home," he said softly. "Are you sure it's ok that I'm here?"

"Of course it's ok, silly." I paused briefly, then continued. "I know you're tired, baby. You wanna bath before we turn in, or do you just wanna get some sleep?"

"A bath would be great, but I'm really beat. Can we just turn in?"

"Sure." 

Kiefer preceded me up the stairs to my bedroom as I checked around one last time and began to turn out the lights. When I reached the bedroom door, Kiefer was already undressed and pulling back the coverlet on the bed. I swiftly got to the other side of the bed and helped him turn the covers down. He jumped in and pulled the covers almost over his head, snuggling down into the mattress. I headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth and quickly wash my face.

Sleepily, Kiefer asked, "Aren't you comin' to bed, babe? I came all this way to sleep with you-I sleep good when I'm with you."

"Aw. Thank you, sweetie. That's nice. But I'm just going to do my nightly routine, love. You don't want me to pee in bed, do you?"

"I don't care. Just keep me outta the wet spot."

I completed my tasks, and, as I left the bathroom and approached the bed, I removed my clothes, draping my t-shirt and shorts over the chair near the closet door. I had not had on a bra, and I left my panties on. I went to the right side of the bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and crawled in, moving to Kiefer's back, which was facing me. I put my left arm around him and snuggled close. 

"Good lord. Are you leaving that corset on?" he said, referring to the tiny, less than one ounce piece of material that comprised my panties.

"Well, of course. I must protect myself from your wandering hands," I said in my best haughty tone.

"Nothin' wanderin' anytime soon, love. But tomorrow you're in trouble."

Hmm. Trouble, I thought. I'd like that kind of trouble at any time. Kiefer fell silent. After about a minute, he turned over onto his other side to face me in the darkness. 

"Hold me?" he murmured.

"Sure, babe." I moved up in bed toward the headboard, gathered him into my arms, and sighed as he placed his left cheek between my breasts. He was asleep within seconds. I soon followed, resting peacefully and dreaming about the rest of what would be a wonderful weekend with my precious one.