1 comments/ 22183 views/ 4 favorites Open Sky By: JamaicanMeCrazy He woke to feel of the bed shifting as she got out of it, then heard the bedroom door open and close. The room still felt cool, though the sun was shining brightly through the windows. He heard her footsteps downstairs, and then the bang of the screen door. Curious, he got up and looked out the window. He caught a glimpse of her as she walked across the yard, her white nightgown gently blowing in the breeze. He smiled to himself as he realized she was headed towards the clearing in the woods behind the house, the one with the stream flowing through one corner. He decided to follow. She walked across the meadow, luxuriating in the feel of the soft grass underfoot. She wasn't exactly sure why she was out here, but just felt restless. She sat in the clearing, then lay down, reveling in the feel of the sun against her skin. A light breeze blew through the clearing and her nipples tightened. She smiled to herself, her hands absently caressing her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown, as she remembered how good his hands felt, the way he knew just how tightly to pinch her nipples and squeeze the full mounds of her breasts. She felt a tingle down deep, became aware of the burgeoning dampness in her folds. Smiling, she realized that perhaps last night's romp had just piqued her appetite instead of sating it. He grinned, as he watched her through the trees. He recognized that look on her face, and knew that the way her back was arched, and her legs were tightened meant that her pussy was likely wet by now. He felt himself begin to harden at the thought- at the memory of last night- how tight and wet she felt, as he had plunged into her. He watched her hands cup and massage her breasts, saw her twist and pinch her nipples, and heard her soft moans. How far would she go, out here in the woods? Though it was secluded, there was a hiking path not too far from here, and it was mid-morning, a popular time for hikers. She knew this was ridiculous. She had left him in bed, asleep, and she knew he would love to be awoken to the feel of her mouth on his hardness. The woods were secluded, but there was a hiking trail not too far away. But it was not yet the height of the season for hikers. And, the warmth of the sun, the light breeze... and the feel of her hands felt so good. Screw it she thought- then smiled at the pun... that's exactly what she wanted- a good screw. She sat up and pulled her nightgown over her head, feeling a quick thrill of excitement at her own boldness. In for a penny, in for a pound- as her mother used to say; although she was quite sure her mother never had this situation in mind. She lay back on the grass, and smoothed her hands down her body, gently caressing her breasts, then her stomach, then softly flicking a finger over her clit. She moaned in pleasure at the sensation, feeling her folds slick with the juices of her arousal. She lightly teased and stroked her folds, slipping one finger into the tight warmth of her core as the fingers of her other hand played with her clit. She splayed her legs wider, her toes arching as she felt the tension build. He was stroking himself, his dick hard in his hand, his balls heavy as he looked at her lying there. He couldn't believe that she had just stripped off her nightgown, was shocked by the abandon he saw in her eyes. He knew she had an adventurous streak, but he felt himself getting unbelievably hard, seeing her pleasure herself out in the open field. He felt the pre-cum oozing from the tip of his shaft, and stroked himself harder, as he saw her finger slip inside her- remembering the feel of himself buried to the hilt inside her tight sheath. He watched her work her other hand over her clit, saw her fingering herself faster, and then saw her back arch and her toes curl. He heard her soft gasps of pleasure, watched her nipples tighten and pucker and knew she was on the verge of coming. She felt herself get closer to her peak, felt her muscles contract as she worked her finger in a hard and fast rhythm, mimicking the feel of his manhood inside her, remembering how full she felt with him inside her. She flicked her fingers over her clit, stroking the tight nub, feeling the tension build inside. The muscles in her thighs contracted and her breath came in short and hard gasps as the exquisite tension grew almost unbearable. She threw her head back, opened her eyes, and saw the trees overhead blur as her breath caught in her throat... She groaned out loud, and slipped another finger inside herself and felt the wondrous tension break... the muscles of her slick sheath contracting powerfully around her fingers. He felt himself-hot and hard- in his hand. Felt his balls tighten and swell with the load of his seed. As her saw her there beneath the sun, saw her slip another finger inside herself, and saw her body tighten, he stroked his shaft harder and faster, matching the rhythm of her fingers, as they slipped in and out of her wetness. He cupped his balls in one hand, gently rolling and massaging them, imagining her open mouth on them, sucking and laving them with her tongue. His pace increased as he stroked and thrust into his palm, remembering the feel of her tightness around him. He heard her loud groan, saw her body spasm, and knew she had just come. And he knew that he had to be inside her. He pushed through the trees and was across the small clearing in three steps. He dropped to his knees between her thighs, and in one swift motion, grabbed her hands away from herself and pinned them above her head, while entering her with a hard thrust. He sunk himself into her up to his balls, and groaned at the feel of himself buried deep in her tight pussy. He could still feel the little spasm of her orgasm, the muscles of her pussy milking his hardness. She still had her fingers inside herself and her hand resting on her clit, enjoying the feel of the little tremors racking her body when she heard the bushes rustle. Panic swept through her as she thought of the many hikers that used the path, but before she could even draw a breath to scream her hands were pinned over her head and she felt him thrust deep into her, filling her to the brim with his hardness. She felt him begin to thrust hard and fast into her... She took a deep breath as she prepared to struggle, and then smelt him- and knew... Felt the rightness of the fit, the scent that was his and his alone, and knew. He plunged into her, over and over again, not holding anything back as his thrusts pushed her hard into the soft grass. He held her hands tight above her head in one hand, and slipped his other hand under her buttocks to hold her steady for his assault. He felt her tense below him, and then felt the moment at which she knew him... He felt her squeeze her pussy tight around his shaft, felt her open her legs and lift them up, giving him access to the depths of her pussy. He growled deep in his throat, and took her offering, mercilessly pumping into her. He gripped and massaged her tight round ass, and then slipped a finger inside the tight ring of her anus... felt her shudder in response to being filled at both ends. He moved his finger as deep as he could into her tight ass, and felt himself moving in her pussy through the thin wall separating the two. He heard her moaning, felt her pussy clenching and releasing him. He felt his balls tighten and swell and he buried his head in the crook of her neck and bit down hard, then soothed the bite with his tongue. He felt the mounds of her breasts pressed up against his chest as he thrust to a fiercer and faster rhythm. He bit her shoulder again, harder, and felt her shudder beneath him. He let go of her hands, and burrowed his hand into her hair, pulling her head back to plunder her mouth with his tongue, and groaned as she surrendered to his mouth. She moved her hands down his back and grasped his butt... urging him on in his thrusts. She squeezed her muscles tight around him, milking his shaft and she felt his thrusts quicken and shorten, and knew he was nearing his peak. She felt an urge to taste him, to taste herself on him. She took a breath, and then pushed against his shoulders with her hands. He looked down at her, his eyes clouded with passion, confused but willing to stop. She smiled up at him and reached a hand down between them. He caught his breath as she wrapped her fingers around him, and he sat up as she moved towards him. She looked up at him through her lashes as she slowly took him into her mouth. She flicked her tongue over the head of his dick, and then circled it, sucking him deep into her mouth. She opened up and took him as deep as she could, till she felt his balls against her chin, and heard him moan loudly. She swallowed and let her throat muscles massage his shaft and felt him shudder, felt his hands grip her head, and grasp convulsively at her hair. She slowly eased back sucking as she went and looked up at him again. His eyes were glazed and his chest was heaving with the effort of holding himself back. She cupped his heavy balls with one hand, and with the other patted his butt, encouraging him to take her mouth. He knew what she wanted when she put her hands down between them, and knew how close he was to the edge... He also knew how good her mouth would feel, and wanted to feel himself buried in her throat, wanted to see her on her knees before him, mouth open wide for his dick. He sat up and she wrapped her hand around his shaft and then took him in, deep into her throat. He groaned as she swallowed, felt the muscles of her throat milking his dick- and knew he wanted nothing more than to fuck her mouth. He felt her silent encouragement as she cupped his balls and patted his ass... He gripped her head fiercely and let himself go as he fucked her mouth... He felt her struggle to take him in, heard her gag and moan. He felt her lips working, felt her sucking his dick as he gripped her head and pumped his shaft into the tight, wet warmth of her mouth. He felt her tongue swirl across the sensitive ridge of his cock and felt her hand massaging his balls. He groaned loudly and plundered her lips... He pulled her head back and thrust deep into her throat, held himself steady as she worked to take him, felt her open up and then he moaned as he slipped even deeper into her warm mouth. He moved faster and faster, and knew he was nearing the edge again. He pulled out of her mouth and flipped her around on her hands and knees. He grasped her hips and sunk himself into her pussy from behind, hearing her groan in pleasure as his hard dick filled her. He could not wait any more... he wanted to feel himself shoot his load into her tight, welcoming sheath. He wrapped one hand into her long hair and pulled her head back and used the other hand to hold onto her hip as he thrust into her pussy... seeing her tight full ass up before him. He felt her meet his thrusts, felt her grinding against him and saw her breasts swaying under his assault. He saw her move her hand between her legs, and felt her playing with her clit. He felt her pussy contract and tighten, and he fucked her harder and faster. He felt her muscles tighten and heard her cry out as she came. He felt the waves of contractions in her pussy milking his dick, and he thrust once more and again as he felt the waves of his orgasm take over. Jets of his hot sperm filled her pussy as he buried himself up to the hilt and let himself go. His legs were shaking with the release and he collapsed on top of her, still nestled inside her, hearing her soft murmurs. He opened his eyes and looked across the clearing, and caught a flash of brown through the branches. He saw the hiker wink and wave and turn around and walk down the path. He gave a mental shrug, too tired to even care, sure that this was one hike that would not be forgotten. Open Sores (c) 2005 by Penelope Street "For better or for worse, in sickness and in health." Hearing the minister say the words, I cringed, then closed my eyes while the groom repeated them. I'd promised myself I wouldn't cry, especially standing in my friend's bridal party, but I had forgotten about that particular line in the wedding vows. The realisation that no man would likely ever take me for better or worse, and certainly not in sickness and in health, found my little heart where I tried to keep it hidden and gave a nasty squeeze. Opening my eyes, I lost that first tear. I found the attention of the guests upon the happy couple instead of me and breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to blink away the tears, I did my best to think of my friend's happiness. By the time Jessica and her husband shared their first kiss as husband and wife, I had at least composed myself enough that no one would notice I had been weeping. Or so I imagined. The bridal party turned to face my classmate as she began her walk down the aisle on the arm of her man. I snapped my eyelids closed, as if blocking the vision before my eyes could somehow block the visions in my mind, the ones I had imagined for years, the ones where I was the bride, the ones I felt certain would now never occur. Admitting defeat, I opened my eyes again, and found their focus in the worst possible place, the left hand of the maid of honour as she held her arm for the best man to cradle. Colleen's engagement ring was yet another reminder that no diamond adorned my hand. As if the impending wedding of my other classmate was not enough, her presence at the head of the bridal party was a pointed contrast to mine at the tail. I should have been the maid of honour. The thought settled into my mind before I could chase it away. You should be thankful Jessica asked you to be in her party, I scolded myself a moment later. You don't even deserve that. I shuffled forward in something of a daze, holding my arm out to the last of the groomsmen without so much as a glance toward the man. My eyes were forward, locked on the back of the woman in front of me. Having failed to think of anything happy, I was trying to think of absolutely nothing when his whispered words reached my ears. "It's ok to cry at weddings. I lost a few tears back there too." My eyes bolted wide, cutting to my left in the same motion. My mouth fell open, as if some word or sound might emerge. An exaggerated breath passed instead through my parted lips before I shifted my view forward again and did my best to ignore the comment. Yet, I couldn't. Who does he think he is giving me permission to cry? What does he know anyway? My eyes dropped to the feet of the young lady before me as she continued her deliberate, shuffling strides. What's his name again? Arnold? No, something else. Harold? No. Oh, who cares! He's just a man anyway. They're all alike. Why do they even need names? We should just give them numbers. Yeah, that would be… At that moment, the grip of his fingers tightened upon my forearm. Though nowhere near uncomfortable, the added pressure jolted my focus back to the stationary woman in front of me before I could run into her. With the procession at a stop, I dared twist my head to the left a bit, and my eyes with it. At once, I met my escort's gaze, and his smile. Before I knew it, the ends of my own lips had curled upward, just a shade. Oliver! That's his name. I steered my eyes away from him, but found them straining to snap right back. I can't say there was something striking about him; if anything, it was just the opposite. The wedding party left the small church, pausing to pose for the photographer every few steps. All the while I felt my eyes pulled to my left, as if by gravity. In the limousine, I had my first chance to turn my full attention to Oliver, and I took it at once. His face was on the round side; cherubically cheerful, one might call it, especially wearing that grin I had yet to see him without. A pair of bright blue eyes sparkled behind conservative wire rim spectacles. His nose had a rotundness similar to his face and might have looked even bigger without the glasses. His body was, for lack of a better word, there; his figure being neither tall nor short, firm nor flabby. A short mop of sandy blond capped his all-too-innocent facade. Even though his view was directed across the car, I could see those baby blues were streaked with a little red. My eyelids fluttered, as if to blink away my disbelief. Men don't cry, do they? And they sure as hell don't admit it! For no reason I could put my finger upon, I found myself staring at Oliver for more of the trip than not, in spite of my deliberate attempts to look elsewhere. The limousine proceeded to the ruined hulk of Saint Boniface, a Victorian cathedral destroyed by a fire sometime before I was born. The location was always a popular place for wedding photos and this day was no exception; another party was in the middle of their shoot when we arrived. Our photographer seized Jessica and her husband, taking the opportunity to go over his opinions regarding what would make the best backdrops. The rest of us loitered, watching the other newlyweds go through their poses. A third limousine arrived while we waited. I caught my lower lip protruding. With a sigh, I turned to my left and wandered away from the crowd. Keep control! You don't want to be crying in the pictures! It just seems like everyone's getting married today. Eyes to the ground just before my feet, I continued to encourage myself with each step. I had just begun to heed my own advice when an upright stone slab slid into view. My head popped up. Glancing about, I realised I had wandered to the edge of the cemetery adjacent the old chapel. I looked to the tombstone near my feet, echoing the engraving in my head. Mary Tuttle. 1858-1931. Beloved Wife and Mother. Gone but not forgotten. I tilted my head, mirroring the lean of the marker, wondering who might still remember Mary, now dead a year longer than she had lived. Within not quite a second, I realised the answer. I looked away, tears welling with the understanding that the same number of people would remember me in a century or so. "Why are you so sad?" My eyes snapped open as I turned them to meet Oliver's gaze, and his question. "What makes you think I'm sad?" "This." His curved finger rose to catch the tear that tickled my cheek. I gasped as his flesh grazed mine. My eyes leapt to his finger, then back to his face. "You said it was ok to cry at weddings," I countered. "They're happy tears." "I don't believe in happy tears. People who cry at weddings, or the end of romantic movies, they're really crying for themselves, for what they don't have." "But you cried too!" He gave a slight nod and looked away. "You're right. I did." I kinked my neck. "Why? Are you sad too?" Oliver nibbled his lower lip as he looked back to me. "I was. Just a little, but I'm over it." "Just like that?" "Sure," he began with a nod. "I'm not even thirty yet. There's still plenty of time for me to find Miss Right." "Miss Right, eh?" I leaned my head even more. "What's she like?" "Ordinary." My neck stiffened, taking my head backward a centimetre. "Ordinary?" "Yep. Ordinary." A grin formed upon my face. "Do tell." "Ok. She prefers jeans to dresses, movies to plays, beer instead of wine. She knows what the blue line is. She like barbecues instead of fancy balls, and the Beatles instead of Beethoven. She wants two children, a boy and a girl. She'd rather stay home with the kids than go to work, even if it means we have a smaller house and only one car. "She doesn't like to plan much, just takes each day as it comes and enjoys it. We could spend a happy afternoon together just lying on the lawn," he paused to nod toward the open space in front of the cathedral. "Right over there, soaking up the sun, listening to the birds chirp, and talking." My eyes traced his gaze to the sunlit patch of green. "We could," I muttered. "That does sound nice." The man turned his blue eyes back to me. "Yes, it does." My head swung to meet his gaze. "Your dream girl doesn't sound ordinary; she sounds perfect." "No," Oliver insisted. "She isn't. But then, she ..." "Tonya! Ollie!" Our two heads pivoted in unison to see Colleen beckon with a wide sweep of her hand. "Come on!" We started to walk back toward the ruins, but I left my mind on the lawn where I lay with my dream guy, our hands clasped while we looked up into a sky that reminded me of his eyes. A dozen or so steps we had taken before my mind caught up with my body. In that moment my eyes flew open as I realised we were holding hands. My brain scrambled to recall how this had come to pass, then my lower jaw fell with the recognition that I was the one who had initiated the embrace of our palms. I turned my head enough to bring my eyes to Oliver's face, and found him looking back at me. As if choreographed, we each smiled and looked back to the rest of the wedding party. The picture taking was something of a blur to me with my mind wandering back to the conversation of but minutes before, the hand-holding, Oliver's words, and my own. One moment, however, was not a blur, the moment Oliver and I posed as a couple, the moment I allowed myself the simple delusion that I was the bride this day. I felt his hand on the small of my back. My spine arched, pulling away from the pressure, as I sensed his warmth through my dress. Beaming, I reined in my reflex and leaned into the comfort of his closeness. Sure, he had held my arm twice during the ceremony, but that was something formal, this somehow was far more personal. Or maybe it just seems that way, I told myself. How long has it been since a man touched you in any way, let alone a personal one? An answer I knew to be true, but loathed just the same, echoed within my psyche, Too long! Not that I didn't have offers. On the outside, I might not have been the taut teen from a few years back, but I was still a cute-as-can-be sprite of a blonde. Inside, however, I understood there was a new me, an ugly one, one that even found its way outside on occasion, one I didn't dare let anyone know about, much less see. Later that evening, I lay awake well into the wee hours staring at a ceiling I could not see. The events of the reception seemed to play across the grey sheetrock over my head; the dinner, the toasts, the applause, and the dancing. One particular couple danced over and over across my ceiling, much in the way they had danced repeatedly at the reception. She was a pixie of a blonde who never quit smiling. He was a man so ordinary anyone could miss him- ordinary in every way except the way he made her feel special, a way she'd forgotten she could feel. * * * * * Morning came as mornings do, the harsh light of day leaving the bleached shells of so many dreams in its wake. I accepted my dream had gone the way of most others, into that dim limbo of never-to-be-fulfilled. One might have expected such an acknowledgement on my part to be a weight lifted from my shoulders, but instead I felt a more substantial burden crushing my spirit. He's just an average guy, I tried to tell myself. There are hundreds like him. Don't make this one out to be more than he is. I don't know that I ever would have taken my own advice, but this little voice kept chiming in, despite my wishes. Yeah, an average guy, one you'd not have given a second look at a few years ago, yet one you pine for now. What does that tell you? For the first time I could recall, I rued the day being Sunday instead of Monday, that I couldn't go to work and find distraction there. It was a foolish thought; when Monday did arrive, I was no less forlorn at the office than I had been at home. My depression mounted as the minutes crawled by, as if time itself sought to prolong my misery. Tuesday was no different. By Wednesday, I had given up pretending I could handle this alone, and sought refuge in the supreme ruler of all anti-depressants, chocolate ice cream. I found a sale, picked up three half-gallons, and determined to eat my way out of my despair in spite of a paunch I had already nicknamed 'my poofyness'. An hour later, I rubbed my soft tummy wondering how something so cold could make me feel so warm. But I didn't feel warm for long. Eater's regret soon set in and I caught myself glancing to the fridge, wondering if I should throw the remainder of my frozen treasure down the disposal. In the back of my mind a little voice kept taunting me. How do you expect to find any man if your poofyness gets any bigger? All the while, my thumb found the channel button on my remote with something approaching a masculine frequency. When the phone rang, I turned down the sound on the television so I might hear the answering machine, but the calling party declined to leave a message. A sitcom later, it rang again; with the same result. On the third call, I looked to the clock and detected the thirty-minute interval between calls. When the pattern continued for the next hour, I tossed down the remote and stomped to the phone, determined to make the intrusive party wish they had been polite enough to leave a message. "Hello?" I snapped. "Hi. Tonya?" I nodded, my brow low. "Yes. Who's this?" "It's Oliver. Oliver Hart. We met at the wedding, remember?" "Yes," I repeated, forgetting all about my plan to chastise the caller. "I got your number from Jessica. I hope that was ok; you see, I really enjoyed your company and I hoped maybe we could get together again?" My mouth fell open as if to respond, but I inhaled instead, my chest expanding as I continued to imagine how I ought reply. I could find no way to reconcile my wants with reality. My exhale was more of a sigh. "I don't think so." "Jessica told me you'd say that." I inhaled a gasp. "She did?" "Yep." "What else did she tell you?" "What should she have told me?" "Nothing!" "Why not?" "Because it's none of your business!" "Well," the man replied, his voice as placid as ever. "I guess that explains why she didn't. But she did assure me that whatever it is, it's nothing that I needed to worry about, and that I shouldn't take no for an answer." "Jessica said that?" "She did." "You shouldn't believe everything you hear." "Neither should you," Oliver declared. "But you should believe this: I really want to see you again." There was a second's pause, maybe two, as if he might be waiting for me to speak, before he continued, "So, I'm not taking no for an answer, not on that account alone, whatever that account is. If you don't want to see me again, I want another reason, one you can tell me about." My mouth fell as I prepared to give him that reason, but my mind could conjure not one to move my idle tongue; none that was honest, at least. That was when I noticed the ends of my mouth had curled upward. "Ok," I began with a nod. "What did you have in mind?" * * * I spent more time preparing for that first date than I had for Jessica's wedding, even though we but dined on the patio of a simple cafe overlooking the river and afterward took a walk in Assiniboine Park. There we lay in the grass and watched the sun set. Much like my companion, the occasion was as marvellous as it was common. My bravery wasn't quite up to grasping Oliver's hand again that date, or the next one, when we visited a comedy club. To dissuade him from imagining I would follow the third date rule, I picked the most unromantic place I could imagine, a bowling alley, and, once there, avoided all bodily contact. Even in that environment, Ollie proved romance could blossom; I failed to get all five pins even once- and he still found a way to let me win the last game. As if to make a point that he could choose a far more romantic outing than me, Oliver next selected a cruise down the Red River to Lower Fort Garry. When he offered his hand to help me out of the boat, I naturally accepted, but declined to release it after I had alighted upon the dock. Our palms were joined over most of the next three hours. Although those first three dates had been pleasant, in many ways we were just testing the waters, exploring common interests, the usual stuff. Something besides our flesh connected during that fourth date while we toured the restored fur-trading post, walking at the most leisurely of paces, discussing life in the past, hinting at our hopes for the future. Such was the pleasure of the trip that we loitered until the last boat of the day. The melancholy that took hold of my mood during the return peaked when we again reached my apartment door and prepared to part company. For the first time, I wanted him to stay; if just to snuggle a bit on the couch, though I confess I found myself thinking of more as well. Looking back, I am sure Oliver felt something similar, because he chose that moment to say something other than good night. "Any chance you feel comfortable enough to share your secret yet?" At once my chest felt as if it had been struck by a hammer. My heart sank, and my gaze with it. I knew the day had to come when I would have to tell him, but I was scared, terrified even, that he would walk away and out of my life forever. I brought my eyes back to his. "Not yet." "It's ok," he whispered. "I know. Jessica told me everything." My jaw fell. By the time I collected it, I had already turned and begun to stomp toward my kitchen. Wearing a scowl worthy of the theatre, I picked up the phone and pounded the buttons. Such was the focus of my rage that I did not even hear Oliver close the door and follow me. Three rings later Jessica answered. "Hello?" "You told Oliver?!" I snapped. "Tonya?" "Yes! Tonya! How could you tell Oliver?" "Tell him what?" "That I have herpes!" There was a moment of silence. "I didn't tell him. Why would you..." Jessica continued speaking, but that was the last I heard; Oliver pried the phone from my hands and put it too his ear. "Jess," he began, his blue orbs locked on my green ones. "I'm sorry. I had to know and I couldn't think of any other way to find out. I hope you can forgive me." I stood, blinking, as the pieces fell into place within my mind. A second later, Oliver nodded. "Thank you," he whispered before handing the phone back to me. "You owe Jessica an apology, as I do you. I'll be waiting in the living room with yours." I accepted the phone and just stared at it a few seconds. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and brought the receiver back to my ear. "I'm sorry, Jess." My friend let me suffer three breaths in silence before she replied, "You should be." "I know," I admitted. "I was so stupid to think that of you. After all these years, I should know better. I don't know what I was thinking." "You weren't thinking. That's the problem. Since you're in love, I guess I can forgive you. Love makes us all stupid." "Love?" I think the word was off my lips before my brain had truly digested it. I heard Jessica snicker on the other end. "Yes. Think how stupid you were last time you were in love." A scowl and a smirk vied for my face in the same instant, the smirk winning. "Yeah," I sighed. "I guess I was." "Remember what I told you about Trevor?" I nodded. "Dump him before you get hurt?" "Hey! And I didn't even think you heard me." "I heard you. I just didn't listen." "Are you listening this time?" I closed my eyes and sighed. "Go ahead, say it." "Oliver is too good for you." My eyes bolted open at once. A dozen retorts crossed my mind, but my pursed lips remained snug. Open Sores "Hello?" Jessica prompted several seconds later. "I'm still listening," I replied. "Go on." "What? He's a nice guy that really likes you and you're treating him like he's the one with the plague. Think about it." My moist eyes fell to the floor as I absorbed the truth in her words. "I guess you're right," I managed to mutter. "Is he still there?" "I think so." "Then what are you still talking to me for?" "Thank you," I said, still staring at the linoleum. "You're welcome. Bye." "Bye," I replied, moving the phone toward the wall. "Hey! Wait!" I yanked the receiver back to my ear. "What?" "Call me back later; let me know how it goes." A grin spread across my lips. "Ok." "Ok. Bye." "Bye." Without looking, I moved my hand and the phone back to the wall, wiggling the receiver onto its perch. I sighed, swallowed, pried my eyes from the floor, and made my way toward my living room. Peeking around the corner, I half-expected to find my sofa empty, but there was Ollie on the couch, looking back with big puppy eyes. "I'm sorry," he offered at once. "But I had to know." My head bobbed twice in rapid succession. "It's ok. I should have just told you. It's just so embarrassing, you know?" Oliver stood, and took a step my way. "No, I don't know." I met his gaze for a moment, but then my focus fell with my confidence. "I suppose you'll be going now?" I blinked the moisture from my eyes onto my cheeks as I awaited his response, but none came. A dozen heartbeats later, I looked up. "Right?" Oliver took the two steps required to stand near me. "I don't know." My shoulders sagged. "It's ok, I..." That was all I could manage before a sniffle stopped what would have been the remainder of my sentence. I saw Oliver's finger approach my cheek and I imagined he'd catch my latest tear, but his aim was lower. Curving his finger below my chin, he pried my view upward. "I said 'I don't know.' That's not the same as 'No'." He flashed a smile, one that looked forced. "I'm rather uninformed about herpes. I mean, I understand it's pretty bad, but I was expecting worse." "Worse?" "HIV. Cancer. Infertility. A history of abuse. Something like that." I swallowed through a nod. "Yeah. I guess that would be worse." Oliver's grin turned genuine. "A lot worse." "But this is still pretty bad!" "I'm sure it is." Oliver's fingers dropped from my chin, falling to curl about my hand. "You wanna tell me about it?" Grasping my palm, he took a step backward. I nodded my agreement and allowed him to lead me to the couch. He declined to release my hand as we sat. For a moment I looked into his eyes, felt the feel of his skin upon mine, and wanted time to stop. But it didn't, of course, as confirmed by the passing of several seconds and the raising of both his eyebrows. "Where should I start?" I asked. Oliver smiled. "Wherever you want." I took three breaths deciding where I really wanted to begin before concluding the honest answer was, nowhere. The fourth breath was larger than the previous three, after which I forced my eyes to those of my companion. "I guess it starts two years ago, somewhere in Mexico. I'm not sure where it was; you see, I wasn't there. I was in Vancouver. My boyfriend was the one in Mexico." "This boyfriend," Oliver interrupted, "he has a name?" My head bobbed in the aftermath of an especially vigorous exhale. "Yeah. Trevor." "Ok. Go on." "So it seems Trevor had a little fun while he was there, fun of the sort he'd promised not to. You'd think that if I felt the need to obtain such a promise, that I wouldn't put much faith in it, but I did." My eyes left Oliver's and fell to the carpet. "A few weeks after he got back, I got the first sores." I paused to swallow, recalling that portion of the trauma that my psyche could not suppress. "I managed to tell myself it was nothing for a day or so before the burning drove me to my doctor." My eyelids clamped shut, squeezing a drop of moisture out one corner. "She said it like I had a splinter or something," I related. "I suppose doctors do that, just say it, you know." "Sure," Oliver whispered. "What else can they do?" Blinking, I looked back to him. "Nothing, I suppose. She did hug me when I broke down, I guess that's more than most doctors do; and told me how the first outbreak is by far the worst, although I didn't believe her at the time. I thought I'd be covered in those sores forever." "She was right, I take it?" I nodded. "Yeah. I'm down to maybe an outbreak every other month now. A lot fewer lesions too, and they're gone in days instead of weeks. I guess it's like, well, a second period, only ten times as bad. The prescription helps too, when I'm not too embarrassed to go get it filled." Pausing for a breath, I hoped Ollie would speak, but he just stared until I felt compelled to continue. "I'm not sure what else you want to know. It's contagious as all hell when I'm in outbreak, and I'm still dangerous without symptoms. Trevor didn't have symptoms, you know? And he still gave it to me." "That must have been rough, being betrayed like that." "The bastard," I hissed. I paused to purse my lips and swallow. "He wouldn't even admit he did it. Said he didn't have anything. That I cheated on him. Called me a disease-ridden skank and dumped me. Can you believe that? Who knows how many other girls he's infected by now." I tried to blink away a tear, but it escaped anyway, tickling my cheek as it slid down my face. "But I really loved him. Even now, I don't know why, but I did. I loved him every bit then as much as I hate him now. Does that even make sense?" I snapped my focus back to Ollie. To my surprise, and shameful thrill, I saw his eyes glazed as well. "Yeah," he affirmed with a shallow nod. "It makes a lot of sense." My eyes wandered in the silent seconds that followed, flitting to our still joined hands. With the comfort of understanding he didn't see me as a leper, I forced a smile and looked back to his face. "Anything else you want to know?" "Sure," Oliver sad, his head bobbing as he spoke. "Tell me about the, uh, the affliction itself. What's it like?" I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly dry. "Sores," I whispered. "All over. Not just my, uh, genitals. My ass. My thighs. My clothes stuck to the scabs at first. I had to wear dark pants, to keep the blood and stuff from showing through." Oliver's cheeks twitched a bit, and I decided to skip additional details. "It's better now," I continued. "My doctor says that'll continue as I get older and my body adjusts, but I still break out and it still hurts. Did you notice my slacks are mostly black? I carry a bottle of disinfectant. Any place, I sit where another lady might, I wipe. The doctor said that kind of transmission isn't very likely if it's even possible, but I don't want anyone else to suffer this." I paused for a single breath before adding, "Including you." "I know." Oliver shifted. Moving his free hand, he cradled mine between both of his. "If you were selfish, you could have had me by now- but you're better than that." A closed-mouth grin seized my lips I issued a shallow nod "Thank you." "Thursday then?" "Thursday?" "Seven P.M. You. Me. Dinner and a movie?" My mouth fell as I cycled a long breath. "You don't have to pretend. If you don't want to see me anymore, I'll understand." "My dream girl doesn't have to be perfect, remember?" "Dream girls don't have incurable, contagious diseases." "The one I'm interested in does." I swallowed. "She does?" "She does." Oliver's brow lifted a bit. "Besides, we'd have to be intimate in order for you to be contagious, yes?" I nodded. "Yes." "So dinner and a movie is safe?" I flashed an amused grin. "Sure. And you won't catch anything holding my hand either." "Ok, then," he said with a nod. "I need to do some reading, you know, learn more." My eyes roamed his face before settling on his eyes, seeking any hint of what he felt. I found none. I squeezed his hand just a bit, then relaxed as I felt him apply an equal pressure in return. Every relationship has that moment I suppose, the one when you have to take a chance with your heart before your head is sure it's safe to do so. Looking back, this was that moment for me. With a swallow, I parted my lips a fraction of an inch and leaned even less. But it was enough. He did the rest. As kisses go, our first wasn't the longest, or the most passionate, but when I think of favourites, no other comes to mind. My eyes still overflow when I recall it, just as they did when our lips parted that night. I looked away after that kiss, wiping the moisture that blurred my vision before I steered my longing gaze back to Oliver. "How did you know a kiss was safe?" His shoulders moved in the slightest of shrugs. "I didn't. You did." A few minutes later we shared a second kiss at my door, then said our goodbyes. His car had barely left the curb before I sprinted for the phone to share with Jess what I thought to be the best of news. * * * * * Thursday found me waiting on my couch, dressed for the theatre and a restaurant. I grinned at my own assumption as I opened the door and discovered Ollie with a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a DVD in the other. "Seen Bed of Roses?" he queried, brows high. I shook my head. "No. Can't say I've even heard of it." Oliver smiled. "Good, because I didn't have a plan B." The film turned out to be a trite romance, but any movie can be the best movie ever when viewed by a couple cuddling on a couch too small for one. My eyes were moist as the credits rolled, but what made my tears roll was the single red rose Oliver produced from nowhere moments later. "One flower," he said, extending the blossom to me, "for the one woman that makes the world shine for me. I love you, Tonya." "Oh, God," was all I could muster before the sniffles overwhelmed my ability to speak. We hugged. My face to his shoulder, I wept, my tears reminding me why I had so often cried the last few years. Though my heart knew the little flower and the simple words that accompanied it meant Ollie thought of me as far more than a disease-ridden skank, my head wanted that last bit of assurance. "I love you too, but my infection..." I began, intending to make a question of it. "... doesn't scare me a bit." I pulled away to look into his eyes. "How can it not?" "I did a lot of reading. I didn't realise how many people had the disease." I nodded. "One in five. Most just don't know it." "Yeah," Oliver agreed. "With all that uncertainty, I'm not sure you can say that Trevor infected you." My lips formed a line as I swallowed. "He's the only one I've ever been with." "Oh." Ollie's body leaned, retreating an inch of two. "I didn't know. But still, he could have been a carrier for years?" My head fell to one side. "Are you defending him?" Oliver shrugged. "Yeah, in a way." "Why?" "Because you didn't trust your partner. That scares me more than the disease. I guess I'd like to know why." For a few seconds, I but looked into Oliver's eyes, trying to reconcile my indignity with his logic. "Ok," I began, "I guess I don't know that it was Mexico. But I knew Trevor was a cheater, a player. My head knew it but my heart wouldn't listen. Then, when this happened, I guess my heart wouldn't listen either if that makes any sense. What you really want to know is if I can ever trust anyone else, right?" "Not anyone else," Oliver responded with a shake his head. "Me." "My heart still wants to hide. But my head wants to take a chance." Oliver's head continued to move in a pivot. "Not what I asked. Can you ever trust me?" I looked away, releasing a long breath before I spoke. "I don't know. I like to think I can, but I won't know until I try." I forced my focus back to my companion. "How can I know until then?" Oliver's gaze did not waver in the slightest. "I guess I don't need to know today, but I do need you to understand faith in a partner is everything to a relationship." "Everything?" "Ok, not everything, but without faith in one another, all the love in the world won't be enough. Anything beyond faith, a couple can work out if they really want to." He paused for a swallow. "We just have to figure out if we want to." I want to! my heart screamed, but my head chose something more practical. "Anything else we can work out?" Ollie's head moved in a single nod. "Anything." "Are you sure?" "Yeah. I'm sure." "Ok," I agreed with a sniffle. "Where do we start?" Oliver grinned. "We've already started. I want to continue by dating you exclusively, with the prospect of something permanent, if you are of a similar mind." My head bobbed in a brisk nod as a smile spread across my face. "I am." So true were my words that I went to bed with visions of Tonya Hart dancing in my very similar mind. My mood however was not quite the same after a night's sleep. I'd wanted to marry a man before, so badly I had nagged him about it; and I had been wrong. The doubts followed me to work. Only weeks before I had wondered if any man would ever want me. Now that one did, I wondered if I was settling for the first man to express an interest, making him out to be something more than he was, much as I had done with Trevor. Thinking of my old beau again, I realised that everyone had seen it right away, how wrong we were for each other. Everyone but me. By mid-afternoon, I knew what I had to do. My front door was barely closed before I had the phone to my ear, silently urging Jessica to pick up as the ringing began. "Hello?" "Hi," I replied. "It's me. Got a sec?" There was a pause, one long enough to make me doubt the "Sure. What's up?" that followed it. "Can I still tell you anything?" "Depends. Is it a secret and are you going to accuse me of telling it?" "Never." "In that case, shoot." "Oliver and I had something of a long talk last night and..." "Did he ask you already?!" "Ask me what?" "To marry him?" "No!" Jess sighed. "Oh." "Not yet, anyway." "Yet?!" "Well, we did talk about, how did he put it, 'dating with the prospect of something permanent'." "You did?!" "Yeah." "Oh, Tonya," my friend squealed. "Don't let him get away!" "Are you sure?" "What do you mean am I sure?" "Remember Trevor?" "Not by choice." I smiled at my friend's quip, and the truth behind it. "Remember when you told me I was an idiot for thinking Trevor was the one?" "Definitely." "I've known for a long time all I really saw in Trevor was a handsome hunk. I just don't want to make the same mistake again." "Oliver's no hunk." My lips formed a purse as I absorbed what I at first took to be an insult to my beloved. An instant later, I smiled. "So, am I being an idiot again? You did say he was too good for me, right?" "Herpes may be the second best thing that ever happened to you." My mouth formed a hard, thin, line. "What?!" "Remember that bubbly, fun-loving little blonde named Tonya everyone loved back in high school, the one that's been gone for a couple of years?" My mind drifted back. "I guess so?" "You have my wedding photos, right?" "Sure." "Ever look at them?" "All the time." "The picture of you and Oliver." I noticed I was smiling. "Of course." "Get that picture." I leaned around the corner to my bureau and retrieved the album. Bringing the book to my kitchen table, it fell open to my favourite page. "Ok. I'm looking." "You're looking at the picture?" "Yes." "And you don't see it?" "What?" I heard a subtle chuckle on the other end of the line. "Don't look at Oliver. Look at yourself." I did. At once I saw her, the bubbly fun-loving blonde, smiling back at me. "So soon?" I mused aloud. "Yeah," Jessica said. "Everyone saw her come back that day. And we don't want to see her disappear again." "Oh, Jess," was all I could manage to mutter. "I must have been a real witch these last few years." There was a muffled sniffle on the other end. "Now do you see why herpes is the second best thing to ever happen to you? Think about it." Although she'd instructed I think about it, no consideration was necessary. "You're right," I agreed before the echo of her words had faded. "Ollie is the best thing that ever happened to me." * * * As if to underscore our conversation, I awoke the next morning to an unwelcome itching in my loins, an itching I knew would soon become a burning, and then worse. "Stress," I told my reflection while I combed my hair. "That'll do it every time." Fifteen minutes later I marched into the nearest Shoppers Drug Mart, stared the clerk square in the eye, and handed him my prescription. I tried to cancel my date with Oliver that evening on account of my condition, but he wouldn't hear of it. "I need to see you like this," he explained, "so I can understand more what it's like and help you through it. This has to be our problem, not just yours." I swallowed, understanding there was but one appropriate reply to that sort of logic. "I love you," I whispered. My heart all but melted as the words left my lips, knowing full well that my ears would hear them but a second later. Thus that evening became another date spent on the couch eating take-out and watching a forgettable movie. And the following night as well. And the next. Once, that little voice tried to register its objection to our new routine. You have to stop this! Keep eating all this fast food and you'll have to find a new name for your poofyness! I noticed myself smiling as I ignored the voice and wiggled my scab-covered bum back into Ollie's poofyness. I never heard that little voice again. Oliver's pliant paunch was not the only thing I felt when we cuddled together on my tiny sofa. I often detected something not so pliant through both sets of clothes, a rampant masculinity that I could not resist pushing and rubbing my bum against. There was something special about feeling him there like that, night after night, knowing he wanted me notwithstanding my condition. Even after my outbreak had subsided we continued our pattern, movies and fast food on the sofa. In spite of the state of his manhood, he made no move beyond kissing and caressing to satisfy the urges I knew he felt, urges I very much shared. I became unsure whether his reluctance to proceed beyond cuddling stemmed from chivalry, or concern for his health, but I knew there was one safe way I could have him. One evening as Oliver nuzzled my neck, I slid my lips to his ear and nibbled his lobe before whispering. "I want more than kissing tonight." My love's mouth left my flesh. "What do you mean?" "A blowjob?" I suggested in the same low tone. "That's safe. We can do that." Oliver's brow became a line above his eyes. He sat upright shook his head. "No. Not yet." My mouth fell. "Please." The word was out of my open mouth before I realised I had spoken it. "I couldn't," Ollie insisted. "Unless I could do something for you as well." With that, he shifted his position. My eyes dropped, to the epicentre of his squirming. I smiled. Imagining the hard-on in his pants, I directed my gaze back to his face. "You don't have to do anything for me. I want to do this for me." It was true. Though I'd always considered giving head to Trevor an unwelcome chore, I found myself salivating at the thought of doing the same for Oliver. He shook his head again. "No. There must be something I can do for you?" "Fingers," I said, holding my hand upright and wiggling my spread digits. "I've fingered myself often enough." His throat flexed with a swallow. "You'll eventually want more, won't you?" Open Sores "A condom?" I suggested. "That should be pretty safe when I'm not having an episode." Oliver's gaze shifted upward, and to his right. For a few moments he stared into space, then his head moved twice in a slow nod. Grinning, he turned back to me. "So you want me to bring one of those little circular things next time?" I issued a slight giggle. "Little round circular things?" "Yes." Oliver's grin turned into a full smile. "Do you want one?" "Fine. I want a little circular thing." "Ok. I'll bring one tomorrow." Brows high, I nodded. "We could go get one tonight?" He issued a servant's nod. "Tomorrow will be better." "Ok," I agreed with a similar nod. "Tomorrow." In preparation for our anticipated tryst, I left work early and went lingerie shopping. Forced to analyse my reflection as I modelled the skimpy garments, I could not help but notice how the girl in the mirror had a much softer physique than even she had imagined. I also could not help but notice how she smiled just the same. I settled on a black set with lots of lace. Wearing nothing else, I waited for Oliver, imagining what the look on his face might be when I opened the door. He features did reveal the pleasant surprise I had hoped for, however my own expression must have registered nothing less than shock. Instead of something casual, Oliver wore a coat and tie. In his right hand were a dozen roses. Tucked under his left arm was a box of candy. "Did I misunderstand something?" I asked at once. "That depends. What were you expecting?" I took a single deep breath before responding. "Sex." "Well, perhaps we should see if the little circular thing I brought meets with your approval first?" My head fell to one side. "What?" Ollie's brow bounced upward. "May I come in?" Without a word, I stood to one side. Oliver marched past me straight to my kitchen table, depositing the flowers and the candy before turning back to me. "Oh?" he mused, looking down. "What's this?" I didn't see anything as he knelt, but when he looked back up he had the circular thing in one hand. His other hand found the fingers of my left. Before I could breath, the little golden band was poised at the tip of the third digit. "Tonya, my love," he began. "I want nothing more that to share everything with you, for the rest of our days, if you will have me as your husband?" My lips quivered as I tried to form words, but I could not. My chest was rigid. I couldn't even breathe. My knees wobbled a bit. For fear of collapsing, I knelt. Oliver's brows went high the moment our eyes locked upon one another. With a sniffle, my head bobbed the exuberance my mouth was still unable to utter. He flashed a smile, then eased the ring onto my finger. My fingers clenched at once, as if to preclude the precious little band from ever leaving my hand. A second later, I threw my arms around his shoulders, hugging him as I did my best to control my weeping. "You're wrong," I whispered in his ear the instant my sobs began to subside. "About what?" I pulled away, looking into his eyes. "These are definitely tears of joy." Oliver grinned. "As much as you cry, I hope so." "You've made a mistake though," I announced in my best monotone. "I can't be your dream girl." Ollie closed his eyes and shook his head. "We've been over this already. From what I read, I might have it already and not know it. Even if I did catch it, there's a better than average chance I'll never develop symptoms and even if I do, the symptoms are treatable." He paused to swallow, opening his eyes as he continued, "And even if I was sure to get it and there was no treatment, you underestimate what a special person you are if you imagine for an instant that I still wouldn't want to be with you." I smiled. "No. I'm not talking about herpes. You see, I favour Mozart to McCartney." I paused until I saw the results of my jest register on his face. "And I don't have a fucking clue about the blue line." "Are you sure?" Oliver inquired. "Looks like I'm the one dressed for Mozart and you're the one dressed to pick up a hockey player." I looked down at my negligee, and then to his suit. "True," I admitted with a bounce of my brow. "You are overdressed for what I had in mind." Oliver blinked a few times, then shook his head. "What you had in mind will wait." "Wait?" My mouth fell agape. "Why?" "Because it wouldn't be special." "Not special. Why not?!" "Because tonight it would be about a couple of pigs rutting in the spring mud. After our wedding, it will be about a couple confirming their commitment to one another." My ever-moist eyes overflowed again. "You're right," I agreed in the most solemn whisper. "That will be special." Although I didn't initially grasp that it would have that effect, Oliver's insistence that we wait until our wedding night expunged the last shred of a doubt I had regarding whether I could trust another man after being betrayed by one I loved so deeply. As Oliver and I continued to snuggle on my couch, I often felt his hardness against me. He could have had me anytime, any minute, with but a word. But he never said that word. Knowing he wanted me that much, yet still resisted, assured me more than words that no temptation could ever lead my Ollie astray. * * * I suspect the experience of my wedding was little different from that of other brides. The first couple of days, you spend staring at the ring, as if it might disappear at any moment. Then you settle into this happy delirium, and begin envisioning the perfect fairy tale wedding. Next the financial reality rears its unwelcome head and you settle for something far more practical. Just when you think you have it all under control you realise the day is approaching like a runaway train and there are a million things you put off or forgot about. Checklists and a whirlwind of activity rule your life. Finally, just when you think it can never all come together, it does and you're standing there listening to the words. "For better or for worse, in sickness and in health." And you repeat them. You share that first kiss as husband and wife. Everyone throws rice at you. The wedding party travels to some special site, Fort Garry in our case, for the photographs. Afterward, there's the reception; the dinner, the toasts, the applause, and the dancing. One particular couple gets to dance first, of course. At my wedding, she was a short blonde pixie of a girl who never quit smiling. He was a man so common anyone could miss him- ordinary in every way except the special way he made her feel, a way she'd become all too used to feeling. By the time that dance ended there was only one thing I wanted to feel that I hadn’t already, my husband inside of me. Oliver had barely carried me over the threshold when we set about disrobing one another, kissing in between as the opportunity presented itself, leaving a trail of crumpled clothing in our wake. I don't know if it's a tradition, but my husband carried me over the bedroom threshold as well, all the way to the footboard where he tossed me onto the mattress. As my body bounced on the springs, my focus bounced back and forth from his rampant cock to his smiling face, before finally settling with reluctance upon the latter. Ollie gave me a playful wink. "Close your eyes." I pivoted my head to look at my man slightly sideways. "What are you going to do?" "You'll see," Ollie whispered. Then he bounced his brow twice. "Or more like, you won't see. Now close your eyes." I nodded. "Ok." With a sigh, I dropped my head to the pillow and turned my closed eyes to the visions in my head, trying to imagine what my lover had in mind. There was a moment when I heard a slight rattling and imagined it to be the sound of a condom wrapper. Smiling, I waited, picturing the rubber rolling over his member. My first solid evidence of my husband's intentions came from the warmth I felt on the backs of my thighs. A moment later I realised he had slid his hands between my legs and the sheets. Cupping my thighs, Oliver pulled my legs upward. I assisted as soon as I understood his plan to pin my limbs to my torso. My mouth curled upward. I'd been fucked in this position before and it had always been most intense. I breathed a sigh of selfish anticipation, awaiting the feel of his latex-clad crown at my entry. But this was not what my lover had in mind. His palms still on my haunches, Oliver brought not his cock, but his tongue to my crease, giving my nether lips a full, slow lick. My eyes bolted open. My head popped upward. "What are you doing?" I gasped. "Stop." My hands found his scalp. "You can't." Oliver smiled. "I beg to differ. I most certainly can." As if to prove his point, he again drew his tongue along the length of my sex. "No!" I protested, wiggling against his pressure, pushing against his head. "You have to be careful." "Careful of what?" "Haven't you been listening? I'm contagious all the time!" "Yes," Oliver said. "I've been listening. Have you?" "Yes!" "Remember when I proposed, did you hear when I said I wanted to share everything with you?" "Uh huh," I grunted, my thoughts drifting back to that moment. "This is part of that everything." His face dropped again and for a third time I felt the velvety softness of his tongue bathe my pussy. Slower he went this time, setting of a tingling in my loins that spread as a series of shivers throughout my body. I inhaled a sharp breath, my hips bouncing from the mattress to push against his still-sliding appendage. "But I'm still dangerous," I whimpered. It was the last semblance of opposition my psyche could muster. My fingers curled within his hair. Had he licked me again, I could not have said a word. Oliver's head popped upward. Wearing a smile that made me want to scream, not the least of which because seeing his mouth meant his tongue was no longer upon me, my husband crawled up my form until his face was above mine. "So now my mouth is dangerous too. Are you still willing to kiss it?" His meaning started to sink in. I nodded. "Of course." "Even if you knew you'd get mouth sores," he pressed, "would you still?" I closed my eyelids, squeezing out a portion of the moisture that had pooled there. "Yes. I'd kiss you no matter..." Oliver's mouth found mine, terminating my sentence. My head bounced from the bed, pushing into his kiss, and all the germs, microbes, and viruses therein. His hands began to roam my body as our lips roamed one another. My hands joined the writhing bundle of passion that we had become. Then I felt it, or more like him; the raw tip of his member probing my sex. My head fell to the pillow. I looked into his eyes and lay still. Ollie's crown found my entry, and waited there. Neither of us said a word. We just looked into one another's eyes. He leaned. I heard my own ragged inhale as I felt his unsheathed cock slide within me. A second later my body trembled as I savoured the feel of his fullness there, where a man is meant to be, how a man is meant to be. My chest shuddered as well, but a whimper rather than a moan issued from my mouth. It is one thing for a man to say he loves you; it is so much more for him to show it in a way that leaves no doubt. Imagining no one could be worthy of the amount of love it took to do what he had just done, I broke down. All the emotions, both good and bad, poured forth in a torrent of salty rivulets that ran down both of my cheeks. Oliver withdrew at once. "Am I hurting you?" "No!" I wailed. "Don't stop! Fuck me; fuck me hard." My voice subsided to a whimper. "Whatever you do, whatever I do, don't stop." My lover entered me again, but in a tentative fashion, as if he doubted my words. "Yes," I gasped. "Harder." He did. Long, even strokes. Within minutes, my whimpers became moans. My body began to squirm, writhe even, beneath the pounding. Oliver picked up the pace as if to match mine, seeming to touch with each lunge a new portion of my body, and a new portion of my soul as well. I heard a yelp, and realised I had dug my fingernails into his flank. In that moment, my lover altered his rhythm. I moved my palms to his hips and tried to urge him back to his previous motion, to no avail. Looking up, I saw his eyes closed, a grimace across his face. I understood why he had felt so good only moments before. "Oliver?" My husband's eyes blinked open before he steered the glazed orbs down at me. "Share," I whispered. "Share it with me." With an enormous breath my Oliver responded with an even more enormous thrust, one that buried my ass in the mattress. I grunted my approval through clenched teeth as he withdrew for the next plunge. Other noises emerged from my mouth with each of the dozen or so strokes that followed. Although each utterance was louder than the previous, none were intelligible until his last thrust, the one where he drove his masculinity into my very core, and there began rooting as if he could possibly be any father within me. "Yes," I said with a wanton snarl. "Give it to me." Oliver whimpered. His body shuddered. His neck curled back. A grimace again seized his face, but this I knew was a look of fulfilment rather than frustration. My legs quivered as I felt his fullness pulse inside of me. I cannot say I felt the warmth of his seed spreading within me, that would be a lie- but I knew from the way his body stiffened that it was there just the same, deep inside of me, exactly where it was meant to be, instead of in some pathetic latex sleeve. My lover collapsed upon me as the final throes of his culmination subsided. I arched my neck, moving my mouth to meet his. Our lips collided, triggering something akin to an aftershock in my loins. It wasn't a true orgasm, but it was a portent of those that would follow. "I know what love is now," I whispered the instant his lips freed mine. Oliver pulled back and cocked his head to one side. "What?" I smiled. "When the heart and head agree." My husband's eyelids began a rapid, though futile, flutter. A moment later a tiny droplet fell to splatter upon my cheek. "Oh," I teased. "Did I make you sad? Surely those can't be tears of joy." Ollie sniffled twice. "That look on your face. It makes me feel so alive." I paused to consider the broad smile that graced my features. "It should," I said. "You put it there." My husband doesn't get teary-eyed anymore at the sight of my just-fucked glow, but perhaps that's because he sees it most everyday. I, on the other hand, still weep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of no hat. Yet, no matter the time or place, my tears always flow over cheeks spread wide with a smile. True love may be when the head and heart agree, but the heart is a place where the normal laws of the science do not apply. In that realm, two average beings can add up to something extraordinary simply by sharing all that they are, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. THE END Open Sores Copyright 2005 by Penelope Street Posted with permission at Literotica.com All other rights reserved. Special thanks to Patricia, Richard, and Ron for their editing assistance. This is a work of fiction. To the best of the author's knowledge, none of the events depicted ever occurred. All of the persons portrayed are fictional characters. Their views, opinions, and experiences are invented as well and are not meant to promote anyone's personal beliefs or agenda, nor should their words be taken as sound medical advice regarding sexually transmitted diseases.