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Dead Write Ch. 01

By: wilderness



This is a repost of a romance story with some minor edits. The other chapters will soon follow.

The water formed a channel down the valley of Sam's back as he sat in the shower, head in hands. Today marked the first anniversary of Jan's death, and the warmth of the shower was an oasis from cold reality. 

When the water heater drained of comfort, Sam stepped out and toweled off. Picking up the blow dryer, he evaporated a fog patch from the mirror and began to shave. 

'Why did it have to be on a Sunday? If people start telling me how sorry they are, I’ll loose it.' 

"When are you going to grow up?" he demanded from his ugly, 45-year-old reflection. 

Sam never liked his face. His nose was too big and his lips too thin. Character lines framed his eyes. Gray hair spread like weeds through the brown. 'At least I still have my hair.' A scar from an excised basal cell carcinoma, faintly visible next to his left ear, reminded him of all the sunny hours on the sailboat were being paid for in grams of flesh. 

After rinsing off the soapy residue, he stood back for appraisal. Routine exercise kept him toned and able to compete with men ten years younger. Well, maybe five years younger. Occasionally women still looked -- from a distance of course. The initial thrill of their attraction ended in a sense of betrayal to Jan. Fidelity to a cherished memory was painful. 

"I may not be pretty, but I'm tough." Throwing the towel into the laundry hamper, he mumbled, “Yeah, right. Maybe I should refill my prescription of happy pills.”

Sam's motivation for health and fitness had changed over the years. When young, he stayed in shape to kick ass in whatever sport he chose. When Sam married Jan, they made a pact to stay attractive for each other, forsaking all others. Now, he had to stay in shape for doctors -- not nearly as satisfying. Sam had the symptoms of middle age. 'Instead of a temple, my body has become a science lab.' More doctors had seen him naked in the last six months than the number of women in his entire life. (Of course, his female dermatologist canceled herself out.) 

Never a bee that had to pollinate every flower he could land on, Sam thrived on a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, until death do us part, love affair. And so, it was done right for 21 happy years. Since Jan's death, their seven-year-old son, Christopher, became his primary reason for living. 

Sam flopped on the bed and picked up one of Jan's notebooks from the nightstand. Lying back, he examined the cover decorated with her graffiti. When Jan couldn't write, because of pain or fatigue, she'd doodle. 

These volumes were a precious gift to him and, someday, to his son. In the white square, next to the word ‘Subject’, the name ‘Christopher’ was written in calligraphy. Under that it said, ‘volume 1’. Inside, Jan chronicled their son's development over his first six years, complete with a list of his likes and dislikes, his favorite color, food, clothes... everything a doting mother would see and a busy father wouldn't. Sam still experienced the world through her eyes... at least his past world. These notes had been a useful reference when buying clothes or presents. His breath caught, thinking how much their son had changed already. Opening the book, he laid it across his face and inhaled her fading scent. 

A few minutes later, while helping Chris dress for church, one of Jan's last requests nagged him. "Sam, promise me that you'll remarry. Chris needs a mother, and you need a wife. Don't give me any crap about how you can't love anyone else. God will provide, if you'll let Him. When I've been gone a year take off the ring and get on with life." Sam looked at his wedding band as he straightened Chris's tie and doubted it would come off without an amputation.

Just last week, Dr. Benson, his Urologist, had told him the same thing, "Sam, you need a wife." But he didn’t use those exact words. The lump in Sam's left testicle, along with occasional pain, had sent him to his family jeweler. After an examination and a sonogram the doctor asked, "Sam, when was the last time you ejaculated?" 

Isn't anything private after 40? "I don't remember," lied Sam. Very clearly, he remembered the last time with Jan -- not as wonderful a memory as the first time. 

"You need to increase your frequency of ejaculation by whatever means possible. This problem will not go away by itself." He referred to Sam's chart. "Your vas deferens is swelling because of a buildup, which causes the tenderness. If that buildup becomes a blockage you could end up with a serious problem." 

'Will you give me a prescription to a massage parlor so insurance will cover my treatment?' Then aloud, he said, "I'll see what I can come up with. Since Jan died, I'm afraid that my desire has expired." 

Dr. Benson raised an eyebrow. "I understand. But you have to take care of yourself. If not for you, then for..." He looked at the chart again, "Christopher."

'Is my dog's name on that chart too?' Doctor's were great for medical, not moral advice. Sam's sex drive was in neutral. 'What am I supposed to do about my "pollywog" problem? Jerk off to some porn movie?' He couldn’t separate sex from love without the burden of sin weighing on his conscious. 

***

At the end of the church service, Sam grabbed Chris and left before anyone mentioned the depressing anniversary of Jan's death. 

As he backed his car out, he heard a woman yelling, "Sam! Sam!" 

Shifting into park, Sam watched the energetic Sunday school teacher, Sharon Walker, bounce across the blacktop. If anyone were going to remember this anniversary, it would be her. Twelve years ago, Sharon and Jan had shared the same struggle with infertility. They’d spent hours counseling and consoling each other through the mire of medical options. 

After tests and procedures, temperature taking and coital scheduling, Sam and Jan gave up hope for a biological child and adopted Christopher. 

“Bob the slob” had opted to plow the fertile furrow of a co-worker, and divorced Sharon. Bob disappeared. Sharon remained faithful to the congregation, and worked with the children in the Sunday school program. 

Jan and Sharon remained friends after the divorce, spending time together in bible studies, often sharing hotel rooms during women's retreats. Sam knew a few things about her, because of his wife’s friendship. However, he had remained distant from the svelte divorcee. No need to invite temptation while forsaking all others. 

Christopher was in her Sunday school class. Without Jan to collect progress reports, Sharon made a point of cornering Sam on occasion, to tell him what a good student Chris was.

"Hi, Sharon. How are you?"

"Hi, Sam." Sharon bent down to look at Chris in the back seat. "Hi, Chris. Great job on your verses today! You have a very smart boy there. You must be very proud." 

Looking in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Chris's face redden. He'd become shy around women. "I am very proud. And thank you for doing a great job teaching him." 

Sharon remained close to the window. A familiar herbal scent wafted into the car. Her sharp, blue eyes pierced his armor, and his grip tightened on the wheel. 

"Saaam." She said, in the singsong, I'm-going-to-ask-a-favor girlie style. 

'Is that hypnotic tone genetic?' Sam wondered.

"Would you do me a favor? Feel free to say no... I was wondering if you would stop by my place on your way home and help me fix my kitchen faucet. I can't turn the shutoff valve under the sink.” Shifting her weight to the other foot, she continued, “I'll pay you with dinner. It's already in the crock-pot... If you have time to eat."

A distraction is just what he needed to help him through the day. "I think we could manage that, right Chris?" 

Sam's question awakened his docile passenger. "Let's go, Dad. I'm tired of pizza." 

"Pizza? I have a gourmet dinner with your name on it! Budget Gourmet chicken, I think." 

"Gross!" said Sharon. "Don't worry, Chris. I'll save you!"

Sam watched Chris's face bloom with a smile. It had been months since his son was so pleased with one of life's surprises. In fact, it had been months for Sam too. 

"Okay then, follow me! I'll keep it under a hundred." She winked at them and walked away.

He watched her hips sway under the floral dress. Her hair was longer than he'd remembered. It was braided into a thick rope that hung between her shoulder blades. 

Jan used to wear hers the same way, and let him unbraid and brush it before bed, often ending in not sleeping.

As they drove, Sam asked, "Do you like Ms. Walker, Chris?"

"Yeah, she's cool. I like her the best of all my teachers.” After a brief pause, he asked, “How come she doesn't have any kids, Dad?" 

"I don’t know, Chris. Maybe she will someday."

A minute passed before Chris confessed, "When I'm with her, Dad, I don't miss Mom so much. Is that bad?"

Sam had to wipe some wetness from his eyes. "No, Chris, that's good. Mom would want you to be happy. I want you to be happy." 

They pulled into the driveway of a rundown one-story ranch. The white paint peeled and the black roof shingles curled. Even the "For Sale" sign staked in the front yard looked in disrepair. Sharon waved them in through a ripped screen door. The interior was just as worn as the exterior, although neat and clean. Threadbare furniture sparsely populated the living room. 

The aroma of dinner made Sam's stomach bubble with anticipation.

"See what I mean about the faucet, Sam," Sharon said over her shoulder as she moved into the kitchen. 

A stream of water as thick as a pencil ran down the drain. "If I get another $300 water bill I'll just give the city the house key as payment."

"Do you have any pliers?" 

She opened a drawer and extracted a pair.

Lying on his back under the sink, he turned the stubborn handles of both the hot and cold supply valves. "Sharon, turn on the faucets, and see if the water's off." 

She straddled his torso to open the faucets. "Hey, looks good! No water."

'Looks good from here too!' Sam couldn't resist a peek at her legs -- almost up to the Promised Land. Self-contempt for his behavior made him move. Sharon stepped away. When he stood, the expression on her face didn't reveal any knowledge of his conduct unbecoming a gentleman. 

'Is she that innocent, she didn't think about me looking?' His face felt hot.

"Here's my tool drawer, Sam." She opened and closed the drawer for show and tell. "And here are the faucet parts. If you want, go ahead and fix that sucker. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I'll show Chris where the toys are."

Running from the fish tank in the living room, Chris squeaked, "You have toys!"

"Yes, I do. I watch a lot of kids at night and on weekends, so I've stocked up with a bunch of fun stuff. Let me show you." They started down the basement stairs. "I have a big room down here just for kids. If you like to watch videos..." 

Her voice trailed off leaving Sam alone with his grin. Snapping back to the task at hand, the faucet seats and washers were swiftly replaced. 

As Sam lay under the sink, turning on the water, Sharon walked over, stood at the sink, and turned Sam on again. "Let me know when you're ready." 

Sam rushed. The thought of her sleek legs made him fear she would see how ready his plumbing was. The sin of covetousness pounded in his temples. "Okay, Sharon, try it now."

He heard the water splash on and off several times. "Great job Sam. No leaks up here."

Again, Sam stood red faced. 

"How does everything look under there?" she asked. 

Confused and trapped in his sin, he stammered, "Under where?" 

She grinned at his discomposure. "Underwear? No not my underwear. Under the sink, are there any leaks that need repair under the sink?" 

Regaining self-control, he replied, "Everything looked perfect."

Sharon's color deepened, hinting she understood the duplicity. "I'm going to change. I don't want to spill food on my good clothes." 

Nervous, Sam walked around to burn up the adrenaline. Typical of a 50's style ranch, the house had a breakfast nook off the kitchen with a sliding glass door to the backyard. The yard was filled with verdant flower and vegetable gardens. 

Peonies, his favorite flower, bloomed in a vase on the desk in the corner of the room. As he leaned over to enjoy a sniff, his eyes wandered over the desktop. Under a stack of magazines, an exposed inch of a notebook cover caught his eye. A glimpse of an ornate doodle fired his curiosity. Under the pile of "Ladies Home Journals" lay one of Jan's notebooks, one he'd never seen before. In the "Subject" box, written in flamboyant script, was one three-letter word -- Sam.

His heart pounded and he felt dizzy as he flipped through the "Sam" notebook. At the top of each page were subject headings just like in the "Chris" notebook -- food, clothes, and sports -- listing his preferences. His life had been reduced to columns of items and one-sentence descriptions. In the middle of the volume, the writing changed. It became a narrative as Jan disclosed her love for Sam. Slower, he continued to page through, not knowing how much time he'd have. The headings were very intimate -- attractions, perfumes, dating history, sexual preferences -- in no apparent order. 

"Bang!" A door closed, forcing him to put the notebook back in the stack. He leaned against the doorjamb, and stared into the backyard. 

"Sam?" Sharon called from the kitchen.

"In here."

"Oh, you've found my paradise." He watched her eyes dart from the yard to the notebook and back. "I spend every minute I can out there -- weeding mostly." She asked, "Do you like gardening, Sam?" 

For some reason, he lied. "No, not really. I have allergies."

He watched as a cloud of confusion darkened her face, and he felt mean for blowing smoke.

"Well, maybe I should take the flowers off the kitchen table while we eat."

"No, don't do that. They're beautiful. I'm not sensitive to flowers, mostly it's molds and dusts." When he looked at her, he realized he cared what she thought of him. 'God, why am I on the defensive.' He liked her smell, he liked her face, hair, voice, laugh, sense of humor... and he wondered, how much was really Sharon and how much was contrived to be like Jan. Was she wearing that emerald green tee-shirt because green was his favorite? Was she wearing those skimpy cutoffs because Jan wrote that he was a leg-man? 

'Why would she manipulate me? What does she want?' 

His mind flashed images of her house with peeled paint, curled shingles, broken windows, leaky faucets. A handyman, that's what she wants.

"Earth to Sam."

He'd drifted off, and now looked into her concerned eyes. "Sorry, I just thought of something I have to do later."

"Well, first you need to eat. I'll put the food on the table, and you can round up Chris."

He wanted to make an excuse and leave but that wouldn't be fair to Chris. "Okay." 

Downstairs, Sam found him absorbed in his favorite video game, and wondered if she had a "Chris" notebook too. "Time to eat, Son." 

"Dad! I can't believe all the cool toys Ms. Walker has!"

"Yeah, well I can. Turn it off and let's go eat."

Dinner was deliciously familiar. 

Sam was a muddled mess. Ulterior motives and hidden agendas were behind every kind word and friendly gesture. Fearing seduction into her scheme, he couldn't relax. 

Chris, on the other hand, bantered with Sharon about cartoons and videos games. He’d been reborn. "Space Ghost would destroy Buzz Lightyear in battle."

"No way!"

"Yes way!" and on, and on....

Sam spiraled in -- inadequate, incapable of coping. Finally lost in a haze, he spilled water. 

Sharon yelled, "Flood! Get the sand bags!" Running to the cupboard, she ripped off a string of paper towels and dammed the spreading puddle. 

Chris laughed.

"I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz!" 

Standing next to Sam as she mopped up the flood plain Sharon put her arm around his shoulders, leaned in, and whispered, "Forget about it. This had to be a tough day just to get out of bed."

Sam nodded his agreement and clenched his jaw. Struggling with sudden emotion, he said, "Thanks, I didn't think anyone remembered."

"Jan was a true friend. I miss her."

Chris focused on devouring a thick slice of chocolate cake -- his favorite.

After they finished eating and cleared the dishes to the sink, Sharon said, “I'll wash them later, when it cools off." 

Must be the dishwasher's broken too. "Well, Sharon, thank you very much for dinner. Chris will survive another day."

"Daaaaad."

Tousling his hair, Sharon said, "I don't have to worry about him. He's in good hands."

Sam paused a moment, happy for the compliment. "I think we should head home. Our mission’s accomplished here, Buddy."

"Awww!"

"You can come back anytime. It was nice having guests. And thanks again for fixing that leak. Maybe now I can afford to repair something else around here."

Was that a hint? "It was our pleasure, right Chris." 

"Yeah, Dad. You and I make a great team. You work and I'll play video games."

Sharon jumped to Sam's defense, "Hey, that's not fair! When do you work and Dad gets to play?"

The question had him stumped. His serious face said, "Dad doesn't play anymore since Mom went to heaven."

"Sure I do, Sport. C'mon, lets go." Sam ushered him out the front door. Turning to Sharon he whispered, "Kids, you never know what they'll say next."

Sharon rested her hand on his shoulder. "They do say the darnedest things... If you ever want to talk..."

"Thanks, Sharon. We're fine. Have a great week."

"Bye Guys."

They all waved as Sam drove away.

***

Midnight and Sam tossed and turned, sullen over the day's events. He lived a haunted existence. 

'Sharon seemed sincere, but... What was Jan trying to do by giving the notebook to her? Did she think Sharon would be a match for me or was she just thinking of Chris? Did Jan think Sharon could role-play a false persona well enough to attract me so Chris would have a mother? But Sharon couldn't be that desperate.' "Talk to me Jan!" 

He got up and paced around the room. He thought about Jan and he thought about Sharon. Sam walked to the dresser and opened the second drawer. Jan's negligees were stacked there, neatly folded. He pulled out his favorite -- the emerald green, silk teddy. Spreading it on the bed, he laid his cheek against the cool, slipperiness that would have been Jan’s chest. Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize her wearing it again -- harder and harder to do. A new face filled his mind, a healthy face, with round cheeks and clear eyes that danced with life. 

Sharon's breast pillowed his head now. He pictured his hand caressing her smooth thigh. The silk absorbed the tears spilling from his eyes as his hands stroked the damning need between his own legs. The image of a naked Sharon, writhing under his touch, blocked reality. His hand pumped a rhythm to match his desire. It became Sharon's grip, guiding him, pulling his hard-on between her warm folds. Strong legs crossed his back and pushed him down into her enveloping heat. Long strokes began the rise of passion along the path to bliss, striving to arrive together, wanting to share in a mutual release. Too quickly, he was there, hips arched, semen spattering his stomach. The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes of Jan replaced Sharon’s passionate face, and he felt the searing knife of shame castrate pleasure. Sobbing his infidelity into the bed covers, Sam curled up, weak, and incomplete. 

The physical release drained enough anxiety for sleep to come. 

Dead Write Ch. 02



Repost of an old romance story with a new edit.

***

Morning brought Sam a fresh perspective. His suspicion about Sharon's motives could be resolved with a phone call to the church's head Deacon, Jack Donegan -- affectionately known as the leader of the "God Squad". The church deacons' specialized in helping single women with their house and car repairs. If Sam could erase Sharon's repair needs, he'd be less skeptical about why she approached him. The plan had merit.

After the typical how-are-you-doing chitchat, Sam got to the point. "If the deacons are looking for a project, I know someone that could use their help. You know Sharon Walker? Well, her house is falling apart..."

Later that evening, Jack called him. "Let me tell you, Sam. Sharon is one proud lady. Initially, she refused our help. Said she didn't want to take us away from someone who really needed it. But I convinced her there was no one more deserving than she was. I told her she's done a marvelous job in the Sunday school program, and it would be an honor to help. Maybe she'll be able to sell the place for a profit when we're done."

"That's great." 

"By the way, your name came up. She suspects you had something to do with this. You were the only one from church she could think of that had been to her house recently. I told her our sources remain confidential. For better or worse, she believes you are responsible. I wanted to give you fair warning."

"Thanks for letting me know. I'm grateful for the confidentiality."

"We're starting work on Saturday. If you want to lend a hand, be there around 9:00 am and stay as long as you want. Bring your own tools. We are painting the outside first. The deacon's fund is going to pay for a roofer, too much liability for us. The roof will get fixed in a couple of weeks."

"Okay, Jack. I'll be there. I thought I'd check out the plumbing, see if there are any more leaks." 

"Fine with me. Just turn in your receipts. The church will reimburse you." 

"Thanks again, have a good night."

On Saturday, the "God Squad" moved in, covering the house like a swarm of locusts, but in a good way. Sam and Chris arrived late. A dozen men were busy scraping away loose paint. Several wives had come to "supervise". They stood with Sharon and badgered the men good-naturedly about "missing spots". Sharon seemed subdued by the fuss. When the sound of their car door caught her attention she turned and waved. 

"Hi, Ms. Walker!" Chris yelled, skipping to her.

"Hiya, Chris." Her demeanor changed from bubbly to one of quiet consternation as she approached Sam. Out of the Squad's hearing she said, "Hiya, Sam. I believe I owe thanks to you for all this attention." 

"No thanks necessary, Sharon. We are just God's instruments trying to do His good works."

Her face softened. "It's hard to be the charitee instead of the charitor, but I guess I can learn to be humble and thankful for God's provision. What about you Sam? When was the last time anyone took care of you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "C'mon, Chris. Do you remember where the toys are?" 

"You bet I do!"

As they raced to the door their laughter sang like wind chimes. Her wavy hair flared as she ran. The breeze teased his nose with her herbal scent. He recognized the fragrance now -- Jan's shampoo. Sam warmed to the idea Sharon might be pursuing him. Smiling, he watched them enter and noticed her backward glance. 

'Was she looking to see if I was looking? God, you've made me a teenager again!' With renewed spirit, he joined the other men.

After an hour of scraping paint, Sam decided to check on Chris and start his plumbing inspection. 

"Hello!" He yelled from just inside the entrance.

"In the kitchen. C'mon in."

Walking into the busy room, Sam found the women building a pyramid of sandwiches. 

Sharon asked, "You think this is enough, Sam? I gotta keep'em fueled if I'm going to get my money's worth out of 'em." She winked and jabbed him in the stomach on her way to the refrigerator. 

'Was that a sign of affection or is she just touchy-feely with everyone?'

Pulling out a pitcher of lemonade, she asked, "Would you grab the tray and carry it out for me, please?" 

He gladly followed her, enjoying the view as she walked. The jeans weren't tight, just snug in the right places. And her smell... He asked, "What shampoo is that? I think Jan used it." 

"I wouldn't be surprised. We were at a retreat and she forgot to bring hers, so she used mine and liked it. Yes, I remember. She liked how soft it made her hair and how it smelled. Its called Rain Forest."

"So, I have you to thank for that," he said, and remembered the pleasure of burying his face in the fragrant strands to nuzzle her ear. 'So it was Sharon's shampoo first, not Jan's. Sharon isn't using it to attract me after all,' a disappointing discovery. 

"You're welcome." Sharon shook her head, creating a nebula of scent that Sam floated through. She looked back and smiled knowingly before stepping outside. 

'Or maybe she is.'

The Squad huddled around a folding table, ready to eat. Jack prayed for the crew's health and safety. Then the food began to disappear. Sam secretly watched as Sharon acted the hostess, filling glasses, handing out plates. She appeared modest and reserved. However, around him, she behaved differently – almost brazen, flatteringly aggressive.

Sam grabbed food and drinks, and left to have lunch with Chris. He found him in the backyard, sprinkling water on flowers from a dented can. 

"Chris, time for lunch, buddy." 

"Sharon asked me to water her garden."

"It's nice to help her, isn't it?"

"Yup." Chris marched in and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. 

They went out into the solitude of her backyard Eden and ate at the shady picnic table. Sam chewed without tasting. He hovered between depression and elation, and sought God's guidance about the pull of carnal desires. Glancing at the house, he spotted Sharon watching them through the screen door, and waved her out.

"Are you guys antisocial, or what?" She said, sauntering across the lawn. She plopped down across from Chris and next to Sam. 

Sam was drawn to Sharon's friendliness like a drowning man to an island. A trait that made her an engaging schoolteacher for children, and for him, a phenomenal tease. He'd forgotten how to play the dating game, or maybe he just didn't want to play at all. Decisions, decisions. 

He said, "We're just sitting here, appreciating your beautiful yard. You must have a green thumb."

"Actually", she put her hands on the table with thumbs up, "I have two." Shaking her head sadly, she added, "It is so hard to keep the flesh colored paint on them. I was teased horribly as a child."

Chris giggled. "You're silly."

"We won't hold it against you," said Sam, "as long as you don't mind that we have webbed feet. Right, buddy?"

Chris learned early how to play along with his parents. "Yeah, we swim like fish and have gills, so we can stay underwater." 

"A couple of mermen, huh? Your secret is safe with me." She laid her delicate, hands atop theirs to seal the pact. They had joined forces without hesitation. 

It was nice to have a woman on his side again, even in jest. Sam felt less pressure. "Well, I'd better get back to work. If I sit too long my flippers get stiff." 

Chris giggled.

Was the twinkle in Sharon's eye caused by biting her tongue? 

Sam stood up. "I want to check your bathrooms for more leaks. Is there one in the basement?" 

"Yes, there's a small one hidden in the laundry room. Let me show you." As they left she said, "Chris, would you finish watering the garden for me, please?"

"Okay."

Sharon touched Sam's elbow, and said, "He is such a sweet kid."

"Give me time, I can fix that."

She laughed, and gave him a light shoulder check to the arm. "Very funny."

As he stepped into the bathroom, Sam noticed the toilet tank dripped with condensation, and he could hear the faint hiss of running water. He lifted the tank cover and set it aside. The water level was above the overflow pipe and ran continuously into the bowl. Pulling up on the float ball did nothing to stem the flow of water into the tank. 

"Is there a problem?" Sharon asked, resting her hand on his back and peeking over his shoulder. In the narrow confines, her breast pressed against his arm while she leaned over to see. 

Distracted by the touch, Sam spoke the plumber's term for the tank fill valve. "Yes, there is. You need a new ball cock."

Sharon backed away, laughing. After a brief silence, she said, "I've been thinking that myself, but I didn't realize it was so obvious. How did you know?"

Sam turned to read her face. It beamed with a devilish grin, cried out for an absurd rebuttal. He hadn't played the game of sexual innuendo for over a year. He missed it. He wanted to play along and couldn't resist the temptation. 

"Well, the physical evidence was plain to see. First, I noticed the moisture when I entered." He wiped his finger across the tank surface and held the dewy digit up for examination. "Then, as I got closer to the fixture, I could hear the liquid flowing fast inside." Sam moved into Sharon's personal space. Reflexively, she backed into the wall. With a thud, she bumped her head. He put his ear close to her chest, listening. 

Straightening up, he met her gaze, then closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. "I could smell the dampness and knew it was leaking." 

Softly she asked, "What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should get a new one."

"Is that a big job?" 

"No, not really. I would be glad to provide that service for you," Sam offered, looking into her eyes, the pupils large in the dim light. 

Her tiny voice puffed onto his face, "You would? What exactly would you do?" 

"I would need your help too."

"What would I do?" she said, sounding pleasantly inexperienced.

"Let me go through the procedure step by step, so you understand the process. Then you can decide if I'm the man for the job."

Squirming a little, she finally said, "Okay."

"First, I would shut the water off at the house meter. The supply nipple, sticking out of the wall, looks like it needs some attention. I wouldn't want to break it and cause a flood." Sam looked down at her breasts and noticed two more nipples that he'd like to give some attention. "Do you have 3/8 inch, chrome-plated, brass nipples?"

Her lips made a crooked smile. "I don't think so. But I could show you where they are and you could look for yourself."

"When the time comes." He made a stern face, thinking about the next step. 

Her eyes watched his mouth, fearful or anxious for more details, he couldn't tell. 

"After the water's off, I'd come in here and take off the tank top." 

She jumped and squeaked when his hands made a lifting motion that brushed up her sides, briefly dragging the shirt. 

"Once the parts were exposed I'd have to drain the liquid and clean the interior, preferable with a soft sponge or cloth. I wouldn't want the china surface to get scratched or cut." 

"No. Very thoughtful of you." Her eyes were closed, and he could imagine what she was seeing.

"At this point I'd require your help. I'd lie down on the floor and you would hold the old ball cock securely with both hands while I loosened the supply piping. Now, this could be tricky, because those components have not been disturbed in a long time. So, they may require a lot of fiddling and careful manipulation to free them without damaging the fixture. How many ball cocks have been in your fixture?"

Her eyes flashed open and he braced for a slap. Then her face softened, and she whispered. "Only the one since I've owned it."

He gave a reassuring smile. "I'd be extra careful then."

"I'm sure you would." She watched his lips again.

"Once the old ball cock is out of the way and the fixture is clean and ready, I'd ask you to gently place the new ball cock in the hole. This should be done slowly, so that I can guide the male shank into the female thread. Now, because of the tight fit, the female fitting may require a lubricant to ease the insertion process."

Sharon's forehead dropped against Sam's chest. "I doubt it, but I'd leave it to the expert."

Sam's right hand caressed the back of her neck, and massaged the skin under the hair. "Once the male shank is fully inserted in the female connection, the water can be turned on and the tank filled. Then, I'll adjust the lever to provide the appropriate depth. The tank will need to be drained and filled repeatedly until we are satisfied... that everything works."

Barely audible, Sharon mumbled, "I think you're the man for the job, Sam."

He lifted her face, and their eyes locked. "Don't decide now. Take your time and think it over. I have to go get the new parts." He patted her shoulder in a brotherly way and walked out. 

"Saaam!" 

He ignored her. Payback can be a bitch or a bastard. 



Dead Write Ch. 03



A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.

Chapter 3

While Chris floated on his dinosaur pool toy, Sam drowned in self-incrimination. 'Why did I do that?' 

When they'd left Sharon's house to pick up the repair parts, he had every intention of returning to replace the ball cock and be done. However, he couldn't face her after that... assault? 

'What-the-hell was that? Oh yeah, my Respectful Employee training called it SEXUAL HARASSMENT; so much for my high moral standards. The first woman that flirts with me, I verbally rape! She must think I'm crazy, or a pervert, a crazy pervert! But she started it, didn’t she? 

Damn it, so what. She didn't ask to get pushed against the wall and humiliated. I stepped so far over the line I was in another state -- an altered state. That's it! That's my plea. Judge, I need counseling. My toilet fetish drove me mad. May God have mercy on my sewer soul.'

"... DAD!" Chris’s splash finally rained through his clouded thoughts.

"Yeah, Chris, what's up?" 

"You know those dinosaurs that use their heads to ram into other dinosaurs?"

Dads know everything when you're seven, and Sam cherished this brief time of infallibility. "Well, I don't know them personally but I've heard of 'em." 

"What are they called?" 

"Bumpasauruses."

"No they're not."

"Boneheadasauruses."

"Come on. Stop kidding."

"The ones in Israel were called Oymyheadisaurs." 

Chris sat there, arms crossed, wearing his "get real" face. 

"To tell you the truth, Chris, I don't know. We'll look it up later."

"Are you coming in?"

Sam stood and stretched, and then placed his hand to his ear, as if to listen closely. In the foreboding rhythm from Jaws, he chanted, "BUMM, bumm... BUMM, bumm... BUMM, bumm... What's that?" He pointed into the water next to Chris. "Shark!" and cannonballed into a game of shark tag, thereby officially postponing his pretrial potty-defense preparations.

***

After sundown, it was time to settle in for the night. Chris soaked in the tub to be ready for Church in the morning. Sam brooded in the den, composing his apology to Sharon. 

The doorbell chimed. 

Tim Clayton, his closest neighbor from a mile down the road, stood squinting in the porch light with a large manila envelope tucked under his arm.

"Hi Tim, c'mon in. How ya been? I haven’t seen you in a while."

"Hiya Sam, I can't stay. Just wanted to drop off this package. I found it on my garage floor with the rest of the mail when I got home. I hope it isn't important, because I've been away on business and the postmark is over a month old. It was sent certified! Frank must have forged your signature. He's gotta be drinking again." 

Frank, the town Postmaster, had a problem keeping the deliveries straight when life's potholes bounced him off the sobriety wagon. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor fog of brain stayed this boozer from his appointed rounds -- and when he was drinking, he never missed a round at "O'Brian's Pub". 

"Thanks for dropping it off, Tim."

"Seeya later."

"Have a good night."

Sam didn't feel the door when he closed it. He didn't see the porch light go out when he turned off the switch, or hear Tim's BMW roar away. His physical senses were numbed by the handwriting on the package. It was Jan's. 

"DAD, I'M READY!" 

The shout from upstairs startled him back from the shock. "I'll be right there,” he said, setting down the parcel and stumbling up the stairs.

While Chris lay half-asleep, another chapter of the Hadley Boys "Mystery of Sunset Mountain" was absently read aloud. After prayers and kisses, Sam went back to the den, where his own mystery waited. 

In a rare moment of weakness, Sam unlocked his desk drawer and extracted the bottle of Scotch -- a present from a client. Pouring three fingers, he downed it like a shot and enjoyed the burn. Waiting to be under the influence, he snapped in an Allman Brothers CD and played the comforting music from his youth. The bluesy strains fit the occasion. 

His left-hand lay on the envelope, as he tried to guess the contents purpose, deathly afraid whatever it was would break his heart. A letter bomb for the soul.

In a burst of liquefied strength, he ripped open the end and emptied it onto the desk. Graffiti adorned the cover of yet another notebook. The white subject box contained a single word, "Sharon". His hand trembled, as he grazed his fingertips over the textured doodles. Opening it, he picked up a folded letter and read:

Dearest Sam,

BOO! Did I scare you? (lol) Then why are you crying? If you are reading this, it means I have left the pain of this world and I am rejoicing in heaven. Don't feel sad. The times we shared were the happiest of my life. The care and tenderness you’ve given me these last painful years are a testament to your devotion. It was an honor to know you and to feel your love.

I have one regret. I cannot be with you to watch Chris grow up to be a man like his father. 

My only worry is that you will live a lonely life, or an unhappy one. 

Eleven months have passed since I've taken the road that goes on forever, and its time for you to mosey on, my handsome cowboy. Your friendly ghost is not trying to rule from the grave, only to guide. The biography I've written in this notebook is to get you thinking about your future happiness. I love Sharon Walker. She is a wonderful person and, like you, has been hurt. You might find comfort in one another. 

Sam, you were never much of a schmoozer. We've argued about this for years, and now I get the last word -- I had to make the first move. 

I'm afraid you might be in so much pain, the first aggressive "Honey" who shows you some affection will win your heart by default. That wouldn't be fair to you or Chris. You have a lot in common with Sharon. A friendship would help heal the wounds that life has given you both. Use this twelfth month (remember, I said wait a year. You better not have gotten over me already! lol) and get to know Sharon through me. 

I've been naughty. Sharon has your biography along with the same instructions. 

God is good. He will open and close doors to guide you. I pray that someone worthy will catch my Midnight Rider.

Stay forever hopeful. 

With Eternal Love, Jan

***

Sam’s held breath burst out in a sob. Memories filled him, warm and painful like sunburn. 

As the emotion ebbed, a curtain lifted. He understood why Sharon acted so uninhibited. She knew him through Jan, and believed that he knew her as well. 

The next day, he felt heartsick and stayed home from Church to study the "Sharon Chronicles". Jan's glowing appraisal of her friend proved to be a double-edged sword. It built a bridge from the past to the present and lessened his sense of betrayal. Yet, Jan's kind words renewed his grief. He missed her. 

Monday morning, Sam was a poured out, hollow shell and glad when the first client forgot his appointment. School was out for the summer, and Chris spent workdays on Grandma's farm. Eager to reread Sharon's biography uninterrupted before he called to apologize, he sped home to ponder his next move. Maybe she hadn’t been totally freaked out by his behavior on Saturday, and they could start over.

The intriguing Ms. Walker's green Lumina sat in his driveway.

"What the heck is going on now?" 

Entering the garage, movement in the backyard caught his attention. Sam stood in the shadows and watched through the window as Sharon weeded the neglected garden. Judging from the pile on the ground behind her, she’d been hard at work for a while. The sweat of exertion made her skin glisten. The sun, nearly overhead, beat down on her back as she worked on hands and knees, returning Jan's flowerbeds to their former glory. 

He thought, 'I shouldn't be staring,' but continued.

Her profile was lovely, the round curve of her bottom and the sway of her back. Muscles flexed as the trowel broke soil. A hand absently brushed away the errant strands of hair that blocked her vision. The thoughtfulness of her actions touched his heart. 


'She wanted to surprise me! I guess I haven't completely turned her off.' 

As he continued to appreciate her form and function, doubts began to work their black magic. 'Maybe this is just payback for fixing her faucet. Maybe she thinks if she weeds the garden that'll make us even, and she can have a clear conscious to stay away.' He frowned. 'I should leave and let her finish.'

Sharon sat upright, and began a feminine magic trick that he’d watched Jan perform countless times on long, hot rides in the car. Her hands reached under the back of her baggy tee-shirt and unhooked the support system. Then her right arm disappeared inside her sleeve, reappearing just the same. 'Nothing up my sleeve!' Her right hand reached into her left sleeve and pulled out a brazier. 'Abracadabra!' A much better trick than pulling a rabbit out of a hat. It was always sexy when Jan did it, knowing there was one less obstacle between him and her 'playground'. 

Throwing the lacy garment aside, Sharon fluttered her shirt rapidly in and out, fanning cool air along her sweaty flesh. She stood, and moved to another weed patch, this one in a shady spot, farther away. 

As she knelt down to work, Sam turned away. He’d reached the truck when Sharon’s terrified screams sent him running into the backyard. 

A swarm of hornets formed a cloud around her as she thrashed in self-defense.

"Sharon! Come here!" he yelled. 

"Sam! Sam, help!" Sharon screamed. 

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to the pool and jumped into the shallow end, splashing violently to drive off the airborne and wash off the landed. 

"Owww! They're in my clothes. Get 'em off me! Get 'em off!"

He pulled off her shirt, and swiped away the bees clinging to her back. She did the same in front. 

"Owww!" she pulled down her shorts, and slapped more from her legs. 

He continued to splash the floaters and fliers, until the squadron leader sounded the retreat. 

Sharon, bent and crying, hugged her bare chest. 

Sam put his hand on her back. "Shhh, it's over now. It's all right." 

She turned to him, and he wrapped his arms around her protectively, as she sobbed into his chest. 

"They're gone." 

She cried a little less as he stroked her hair. The tears were followed by aftershock shudders. 

"Thank you, Sam." 

"I'm glad I was here." Her cheek felt warm against his wet shirt. He rubbed her back as she relaxed, and said, "I'm going to have to bill you for the damage to my hornet's nest." 

She laughed a little.

"What's so funny? Those bees you killed were an expensive import from China. They pollinate twice the flowers with half the pollen. But the queen can only lay one egg. So we just wiped out most of my investment." Sam released her and fished the tee shirt from the bottom. After checking it for hidden assassins, he wrung it out, turned his back and extended his arm behind him. "Make yourself decent before I call the police and report you for breaking and entering."

While his back was turned, she inspected her welts. "Do those little monsters have twice the sting too? I count eight that I can see."

"I counted seven on your back." 

"Four more on my legs. How many do you have?"

Sam made a quick damage assessment. "Hmm, I only have three. But then, you look a lot more like a flower than I do."

She laughed. "Did they tell you that, or is it just a guess?"

Her cheerfulness made him smile. "No ma'am. Just the facts." 

"They were just angrier at me." Sharon climbed out of the pool. "Okay, Detective Friday, I'm decent."

Sam glanced up, and had to disagree. Sharon wasn’t decent. She was spectacular. The thin cotton shirt clung like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. 'Who am I to argue with a beautiful woman.' He looked at her face and caught her peeking at his chest. 'I got the better part of that show-me-yours exchange.'

Sharon dripped a trail over to the pool gate. "I'd better go home and put some calamine lotion on these stings before they really start itching."

Inspired by this extraordinary turn of events, Sam thought of a better idea. "No, don't go yet. I'd like to talk to you about last Saturday." 

The sudden flush of her skin hinted embarrassment. 

"I want to apologize for my crude behavior. It was totally inappropriate." 

A long pause and a puzzled expression on her face left Sam uneasy. 

"No, Sam, I owe you an apology. Your behavior was only in reaction to my sleazy comment. You showed great restraint. While I was..." She searched for the correct term, "lost in the moment?" 

'Lost in the moment!' This new development required analysis. "I think we both got a little carried away. My toilet analogy was pretty rough, and I'm sorry."

Her silence was again unsettling. 

"The sooner you treat those stings the better." He climbed out and put his arm around her shoulder, leading her to the house. "Since my hornets did the damage, let me try to make amends. I have a whirlpool tub and some of Jan's Aveeno bath oil. If you soak in the tub for a while, it will prevent most of the itching and burning -- or whatever stings do. And while you're in the tub I can dry your clothes."

She thought it over as they walked. "Thanks, Sam. That sounds great. It seems the more I try to show my appreciation for what you've done for me the more indebted I become." 

"Sharon, you don't owe me anything. That's what friends are for."

"Friends. We are friends aren't we, Sam."

"After reading your biography, how could we be anything less?"

Her smile warmed his heart, so he hugged her from the side.

***

Sharon finished with the relaxing soak. The tub controls were a mystery, so she left the motor running. The whooshing hum drowned out any other noise. She put on the robe Sam had provided, and wandered into the bedroom. There was no sign of her dried clothes. 

Out of curiosity, she stepped into the huge walk-in closet. Jan’s wardrobe still hung on one side. Feeling uncomfortably naked, she walked to the dresser, hoping to find Jan's underwear. Opening the second drawer, she discovered an emerald-green silk teddy. 

"Ooo, this is beautiful!"

***

Sam heard the whirlpool tub through the bedroom door and assumed Sharon was still soaking. He entered to leave her dry clothes on the bed. 



Dead Write Ch. 04



* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.*

Chapter 4

Concealed in the shadowy hallway, Sam gazed into the sun-streaked bedroom, transfixed by a sense of déjà vu. 

Sharon posed in front of the full-length mirror, wearing Jan’s lingerie. Twirling left and then right, she inspected the provocative image. Her hands smoothed the fabric, making it conform to her curves. Turning away from the mirror, she looked over her shoulder to see the back, while Sam enjoyed the front. The low neckline and high hem left only the most intimate portions hidden. The smooth friction of the fabric, or maybe an erotic thought, had aroused her breasts. 

Deciding voyeurism was only a synonym for frustration, Sam boldly walked into the room to face the consequences. To hell with propriety. 

When his reflection suddenly appeared, Sharon gasped, "Sam!" and hugged her body.

Striding to the bed, he dropped her folded clothes onto the quilt, picked up her discarded robe and laid it over his arm. Silently, he faced her, and took time to enjoy the statuesque vision, while fighting to maintain a neutral expression.

Her pale skin blushed. "Sam, I’m so sorry! I wasn't snooping, honest. My clothes weren't here, so I was looking for something to wear. I felt too naked in just the robe."

Sharon had a sexy way of squirming under his solemn gaze. So he prolonged her embarrassment. "Pardon me for noticing, but aren't you almost naked in that?"

"Well, you weren't supposed to SEE ME IN IT!" 

Sam liked her combative tone, as well. 'The question is, have I found anything about her I don't like.'

"I noticed Jan's clothes were still in the closet, so I thought maybe her underwear would be in the dresser. When I saw this, I couldn't resist trying it on. It's a girl thing -- we try on each other’s clothes -- and this is such a lovely piece. I know it was wrong of me. Please forgive my intrusion."

Tired of the hard-nosed act, Sam sat on the bed. "I haven't had the heart to pack away her things. It's something I’ll have to do soon." He paused, and stared between his feet. "I used to be able to picture her wearing them, but even that's getting difficult. And I'm not sure how healthy it is to fantasize about her." After one more appreciative glance at the nervous woman, he held out the robe. 

She ran the ten feet, and wrapped herself in the white terrycloth. 

He looked up, and said, "Green makes you look phat."

"FAT?" Sharon marched back to the mirror and flashed herself. "I DON'T look fat!"

"Not F-A-T, fat. P-H-A-T, phat, pretty hot and tempting." He stole a peek in the mirror, and then looked down. 

"Hot and tempting?” She asked, and sat beside him. “I haven't heard a compliment like that in a long time. Thanks." Placing her arm around his back, she gave him a sisterly squeeze, then folded her hands in her lap. 

"I want you to keep it. And I'm sure Jan would be happy if you'd go through her clothes and take anything you want. The rest I'll give to the Salvation Army." He looked at her face, and watched her eyebrows knit together. "Whatever's bugging you, just say it. I'm a big boy."

Sharon smiled at him. "Yes you are, Sam. And a very kind one." She paused, took a deep breath, and said, "This must be a difficult time for you. So just tell me to shut up if I start to make you uncomfortable.” Another deep inhale and exhale. “Here's the condensed version of my dilemma. When the notebook came in the mail, I was shocked and embarrassed. The personal things Jan wrote,” she stopped, considered her words, and then continued, “I know how much she loved you.” 

She crossed her ankles and put her hands in the robe pockets. “And I was flattered that she thought of me as someone… compatible with you, as a friend and maybe more. I won't lie, and say I hadn't thought about you after Jan's death. I don't think there's a single woman in the county over 30 who hasn't. And probably some under 30." She laughed. "You need to know, for your own protection, how attractive a man with a faithful track record is, especially to women who were in bad relationships. They all want a shot at the title -- Mrs. Sam Colton."

Embarrassed, Sam said, "There must be slim pickings out there."

She patted his knee. "We know a good thing when we see it." 

They sat quietly until, in an anxious whisper, Sharon said, "The problem is, I want a title shot too. I like you very much, Sam. But I feel like I'm living in a dream world, and I'm starting to feel like an inside trader. I've been given unfair market information.” A frustrated pause, then, "I'd like to say in my own defense that I wasn’t plotting a strategy to seduce you... at least, not at first." She smiled, tight-lipped. "I've been alone for nearly seven years, and happy, for the most part. When Jan died, I felt very sorry for you and Chris. I pray that someday you will remarry so Chris will have a mother. I even pray you would be able to have biological children with a second wife. I know how much you and Jan anguished over not having your own." 

He smiled at her, and nodded slightly. "I know you do." 

Sharon looked away, but Sam noticed the shimmer in her eyes. 

There was another stretch of silence.

"I'm 45 years old, Sharon. I may never be able to look at a mother holding her baby without a twinge of regret, but I'm beyond the desire to father a child. I just don't have the energy, anymore. Chris is my son. I'm more than satisfied." 

Tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're lucky to have such a wonderful boy."

'Lucky?' he thought. 'I haven't felt lucky for a long time.' Sam reached out and, with the back of his finger, lifted a tear from her right cheek. "How long has it been since you've felt lucky?"

Sharon blurted a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Oh, I hate it when my words get turned around on me,” and smiled sheepishly. "I guess I shouldn't have said lucky. Blessed would have been a better choice." A pause for thought, and then, "I'd given up hope of having a... The day I received Jan's notebook I began to feel hopeful about being part of a... I thought maybe... Oh damn, this all sounds so hokey. I'm sorry." She stared hard at her knotted fists.

'Stay hopeful.' The parting words from Jan's letter echoed in Sharon's voice. Sam’s heart was full, and lubbed thickly in his chest. Temptation pounded between his temples. He put his hand over hers, knowing it was sinful. But their shared loneliness had a stronger pull. 

She met his eyes and smiled. 

Was this one of life’s opportunities? Sam asked, "Did Jan write about the little silk number you're wearing?"

Sharon raised an eyebrow and grinned. "No, she didn't." 

The change of subject seemed to please her. Sam wanted to please her, but knew this was more about feeling like a man again. "It all goes back to when I was a child."

She gave him one of those, 'Yeah right' looks.

"No, really. My parents were poor farmers. For years, my father worked like a mule to eke out a living. He didn’t want to sell the land that had belonged to the family for three generations." 

Sam stood up. "Are you in a hurry? Because this will take a while."

"Well, I had planned on weeding the garden longer, but I don't think I want to risk causing anymore property damage." 

"In that case, if you're willing to listen to my boring life story, I won't press charges." 

"Are you blackmailing me, Sam?" She tried to look worried, but the corners of her mouth couldn't suppress the urge to curl up.

"I caught you red handed wearing stolen property, and you still have the nerve to question my motives?" he held out his hand, "If you agree to listen and be remorseful, I'll commute your sentence to time served."

She gave her hand, and he pulled her up. Neither let go. They stood close. Sam's eyes left hers to sweep the thick hair, smooth cheeks and full lips. 

"How will you know if I'm remorseful?" She asked, flashing the crooked smile he was very fond of. 

"By your willingness to participate in the rehabilitation process."

She groaned, "I don't think I can survive another one of your step-by-step lecture, slash, tease sessions."

By the hand, he towed her to the mirror and turned her around to see their reflection. Bending, he placed his mouth to her ear and whispered, "You've graduated from the how-to lecture series to the show-and-tell portion of your rehabilitation." He lightly kissed her ear, and she shivered. In the mirror, he watched a pink flush spread from her chest, to her neck, to her ears and cheeks. "You're not going to burst into flames are you?"

Her face relaxed, "I don't think so. But you've certainly raised the temperature in here."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

She turned her head, her lips just a fraction from his. "Don't confuse my blushing with discomfort, Sam. I'm blushing with feverish anticipation. I hope you won't disappoint me again." 

No further encouragement was necessary. He closed the distance until their lips touched just enough to tingle, "Then let's begin." One quick peck and he strode to the desk, grabbed the straight-backed chair and placed it behind her. "Please be seated, Sherry."

Sharon sat down, and faced her reflection. "Sherry? Why am I Sherry all of a sudden?"

"I looked up the definition. 'Sherry, A fortified Spanish wine: a wine that has a higher alcohol content and ranges from very sweet to very dry.' You are an intoxicating woman, and I thought it fit. If you don't like it I won't use it."

She purred, "Fine with me.”

Standing behind the chair, he rested his hands on her shoulders and began a soothing massage. The mirror showed how good they looked together. 

"So anyway, back to the story. My family was so poor that our barn rats used to bring us food. Still, somehow Mom and Dad made every Christmas special. The secret to our happiness was not in how much our gifts cost, but how they were given. Each year, one present was designated as the "special gift". And some years, that was the only gift. We always knew which one was special by the way it was wrapped. It was always concealed in our favorite color. We would open that gift with particular excitement and appreciation because, no matter what it contained, we knew it was the best our parents could do. I remember one year my father wrapped up his old Swiss Army knife in shiny green foil. I still cherish that knife..." Sam's eyes glistened and his caress slowed. 


Their reflections smiled. Sherry briefly touched his hand.

He began to pull out hairpins, until her hair was free and draped over her shoulders. Slipping his fingers through the fragrant strands, he rubbed in patient circles.

"Mmmm, I like that." Sherry relaxed her neck, and let him support the weight. "More story please."

Sam continued, "How does all this relate to the swatch of green you're wearing? Well, I bought it for Jan when we were trying to conceive. I'm sure you remember what a passionless experience that was, not very romantic. Every sexual urge had to be postponed until the right day, temperature, moon phase, solar flare; you name it, we scheduled by it. Sex really sucked!" He picked up a hairbrush and began slow strokes.

"I remember those days. Bob whined and complained. And when it was finally time, he couldn't perform.” With eyes closed, she added, “He was such an ass."

Sam knew, 'That's when the asshole hit you,' having read about it. 

Aloud, he said, "So, to put some romance back in our lives, I bought that little green aphrodisiac, and we made a deal. Whenever she felt discouraged or in need of some TLC, she’d put it on. That was my signal to treat her like my "special gift". No schedules were kept, no timers were set, just pure adult adoration." 

Sam stopped all physical contact and she opened her eyes. "So, you can imagine what kind of thoughts raced through my head when I saw you wearing my green-for-go pennant." 

Sherry smiled, "I imagine you wanted to run me up your flagpole."

Who is this woman with the smug grin? Sam had read about her. About how she married her first love, how the callous bastard abused her and left for another. About how she'd moved on with life by teaching other people’s children, never able to have her own. He'd experienced her sweet honesty and quick wit. She was a survivor, and he admired her enduring kindness. A fine woman sat there, willing to share herself. 

The moment was a frightening mix of the known and the unknown. The room, the silk, and the racy repartee were his past. This lovely woman was possibly his future. Old feelings of guilt transformed into a sense of wonder that Sherry, a soloist for so many years, would perform this physical duet with him. His joke about rehabilitation struck closer to the truth than either would admit. Both of them needed a renewed sense of quid pro quo with the opposite sex, their mutual attraction strong enough to overpower their moral restraint. 

"Sam?" 

Her soft voice roused him from the wonder. Sam laid his palms on her shoulders. Seeing her concerned reflection, he asked, "Sherry, would you like to be that special gift?" 

The rosy flush spread anew. She stood, turned and knelt on the seat, facing him over the back of the chair. Wordlessly, her hands reached out to cup his cheeks and draw him down to a tender kiss. Her mouth, soft and warm, moved against his in an act of resuscitation. His pulse raced. His fingers tangled in her dark halo as she revived him. Moans were exchanged -- echoes between hallowed hearts. 

She pushed away, and said, "In case you were wondering, that's a yes.” The nervous tremor in her voice seemed at odds with the answer.

The Jacuzzi clicked off, leaving a thick silence. 

They smiled.

Sam said, "Wow, nice dramatic effect. How’d you do that?" 

"I was wondering the same thing,” Sherry said, as she stood. 

Sam put the chair back at the desk, asking, "Would you like some music? Pick something out." He pointed to the CD rack, curious about her choice.

She scanned the titles, then turned away empty handed. "Sam, you have a lot of good music, but I'd prefer not to have any distractions."

He understood, completely. "Then, the time has come for the show and tell portion of the story. Come here, please," he said, holding out his hand.

Sherry walked over and trustingly placed hers in his. 

Spinning her toward the mirror and folding his arms around her shoulders, he hugged her close. 

Her hands moved up and covered his.

"The first step in accepting my gift is taking time to appreciate the wrapping." They both admired the reflection of a man in denim shorts and yellow polo shirt hugging the barelegged woman wrapped in terrycloth white. Her height, only a few inches less, made it easy to bend and kiss her neck. 

Sherry’s head tipped in surrender. With eyes closed, she reached up and toyed with his ear. 

He inhaled deeply, soaking in the familiar herbal scent. A nostalgic rush swept through him. How many times had he held Jan just like this? And now he held another woman. His heart ached with the transformation. There was no going back, but he didn’t have to go forward either. Not now, not here.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and blue pools of tenderness smiled at him expectantly. “Is everything alright?”

Unable to answer without telltale emotion, he nodded yes and massaged her shoulders. After a few moments to regain control, he said, "I always shake my presents for a clue,” and lightly shook her. “You don’t rattle easily. I like that."

Sherry smiled but made no comment. She watched his hands slide down the robe sleeves, then stop at the fabric belt knotted in a bow.

"The next step is to carefully open the present, preserving the gift wrap for another occasion." 

They watched his trembling hands pull out the bow to reveal the fist glimpse of green silk. 

He lifted the robe from her shoulders and let gravity pull it off. A soft thud marked its contact with the floor, and her exposure. The man in the mirror smiled. The woman bit her lip. Her eyes watched his wander over her body.

"You are so beautiful, Sherry." 

She remained silent but smiling.

Sam glanced down at the bare shoulder. A small red welt blemished the ivory flesh. He kissed it and blew cool air across it. "How are your stings?"

Eyes closed, she leaned her head back on his shoulder. "I think you will have to kiss them all to make them better."

"Gladly!"

His palms moved to her stomach, and teased the slippery material against her skin, knowing her breasts would respond to the soft friction. Their arousal was soon reflected in the appearance of two enticing points, poking out. His hands slid up to cradle their weight. They watched his coordinated hands fondled her breasts, the thumbs gliding back and forth, teasing the sensitive tips. 

Sherry closed her eyes once more, and leaned further into Sam. Her pink neck became the desire of his lips, while his hands continued to caress. A responsive moan escaped her lips, and the warm scent of her femininity floated up to his nose. She filled all his senses. 

Thrilled to elicit such an erotic response and afraid of loosing control too soon, he moved back, and slipped his palms up over her breasts to her shoulders. Together, they watched him push first one spaghetti strap and then the other off her shoulders. The slick green fabric began its descent, then stopped and clung to her chest.

"And now it's time to finally see what has been given me." He wouldn’t touch her. This final unveiling was up to her. 

Sherry waited, eyes moving from her image, then to Sam’s. Realizing he wouldn’t, she gently pulled the fabric and let the silk sheath float down to cover her feet. 

Sam moved forward, encircled her with his arms, and smiled at her apprehensive face. His beaming countenance rested on her shoulder, drinking in the beauty. A renewed blush covered her; less noticeable where it crossed into tan. Her warm skin against his bare arms was a sensation that time only made better. He turned her around and pulled her tight into a passionate kiss.

Stopping to gaze into her hooded eyes, he said, "Once the gift was unwrapped and ‘thank you’ said, I’d take the gift to my room, so I could study it, and learn its secrets." 

“Thank you,” he said, and scooped Sherry into his arms, then laid her on the bed. 

Propped on an elbow, she watched him disrobed. "Not bad for an old geezer." 

A bit self-conscious, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what I want." Sherry held out her arms.

Resistance was futile. Lying down, he covered her in the first, all-inclusive touch of skin on skin, and enjoyed the womanly contrast of soft and firm.

They lay entwined for minutes, kissing. Hands entangled in hair to defer additional exploration, happy to enjoy this beginning. 

"Roll over, Sherry."

She obeyed and he knelt beside her. 

Starting with a bee sting on her shoulder, he kissed a damp trail down her back, playing connect the dots.

Sherry giggled. "That tickles."

His lips jumped over her buttocks and landed on a welt at the top of her left leg. He felt her body stiffen. 

Placing a hand on each rounded globe of her bottom, he began to knead the pale flesh, working his fingers into the tight muscles until she relaxed. His hands moved down, massaging one leg, reaching under to rub her thigh, around her knee, down her calf and then the foot. His thumbs pressed into the soles firm enough not to tickle, each toe given individual attention. 

"Mmmmm," she encouraged.

Switching legs, he repeated the act. 

When finished, he bent her right leg at the knee and let it drop. She was relaxed.

"You have magic fingers, Sam." Came a muffled statement from the head buried in the pillow.

"You ain't felt nothin' yet." 

"Are you bragging?"

"No Ma'am, just the facts." He moved up to her side. "Time to treat the stings on the front."




Dead Write Ch. 04



There seemed a moment's hesitation before she rolled over. He bent down and gave her a lingering kiss. During the massage his erection had subsided, but the passion of her lips raised it to full size once again. 

When the kiss ended, she saw it waving proudly. "Oh my, Sam. I think you like me." 

Her quip and smile reassured him. She was still glad to be there. 

"Let me show you how much."

He began connecting the dots on the front. 

"This one is particularly swollen." 

His lips and tongue began their healing kiss on her right nipple. Lifting his head, he blew on the wet nubbin. She moaned and arched her back. 

"Here's another badly swollen one." His lips locked onto her left nipple, while he rolled the right one between his thumb and fingers. 

"Oh my!" she wriggled.

His mouth continued its southerly voyage, across the flat stomach sea until his nose nestled on the shore of her velvet triangle. He was an explorer, sent by his Queen, in search of rare and potent nectar. Sherry's fingers twirled his hair, encouraging his quest. 

He sat up and smiled at her and she returned it. "How's my gift feeling?" 

All nervousness seemed to have been driven off by the building pleasure of his loving touch. "I am one happy present, looking forward to my future." 

He could only smile and shake his head in response.

Looking down into her dark triangle of hair, Sam the explorer said, "Let's see what's hiding in the jungle." 

He gently pushed her legs and she obliged by spreading them. He lay down in the vee and kissed up the inside of one thigh, then the other. His hands rubbed her hips and stomach, then slid underneath to fondle her backside. He worked his arms under her legs and spread them farther apart. Reaching over the top, his fingers slid through her lush carpet of hair. She smiled down at him, peeking over her mons. The expression was one of growing need for him to complete the mission. Meeting her gaze, his fingers spread her labia and his tongue tasted her. 

"Oooo, Sam." Her head fell back, too heavy with pleasure.

He placed his mouth fully over her clitoris and vibrated his tongue, "Hmmmmmm, hmmmm." 

She squirmed considerably. 

He stopped. "You know what I just made?" 

A breathy voice answered, "Well, I think I do. But you tell me anyway."

"That was a Humvee."

She giggled, "Very corny, now shut up and drive. Keep your eyes on the road." Her fingers pulled his head back into the driver's seat.

Sam's mouth and hands continued igniting Sherry's neuron rockets, firing her sexual synapses. His experienced fingers and tongue remembered the familiar rhythm of love. They instinctively plucked the strings of her biological Stradivarius. 

Her pleasure was building to a crescendo as her voice sang out, "Yes Sam! Oh, God! Oh, God! Don't stop!" 

Like a grand conductor, her hands guided him, pressed him, pulled him to a greater understanding of her symphony. Her shrieks were the appreciative ovation of an adoring audience. Her back arched, her thighs clenched, as her body gave the supreme salute of gratitude. 

When Sherry calmed enough for her legs to release his ears, he covered her. His erection trapped between them, he kissed her feverishly. Her juice still coating his chin, he spread the ambrosia down her neck to her breasts and suckled. He lifted his hips and her hands were on him, centering his penis in the warm folds of her entrance. She wrapped her legs around his back and pushed him slowly in, until they were one. 

Sam held still, knowing he couldn't last long. Sherry teased him with internal squeezes.

"Stop that. I want this to last more than two seconds." His fingers massaged her scalp through the dark tresses. 

"Sorry, I just wanted you to know how good you feel in there." 

"You're amazing." He kissed her hard, wanting to take all of her at once. His hips began a patient seesaw as his lips probed and his hands fondled. The climax was nearing. Slipping his hand between their hot flesh, he fingered her. 

"Sherry, are you close."

"Uh huh." She whispered.

He pumped harder, loosing control, pounding into her wetness, the sounds of slapping flesh erotic. His fingers moved furiously between them, building her up with him. 

"I'm coming, Sherry!" Then he exploded in carnal ecstasy, feeling his pleasure spasm with every stream of seed planted. 

Through the blinding fog of his orgasm, he felt Sherry arching beneath him as she reached her peak. 

Their bodies melded together -- pounding hearts, heated flesh, and unforgettable joy.



Dead Write Ch. 05



*A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.*

Chapter 5

Anxious dreams pushed Sam to consciousness. Finding himself alone in bed, he bolted upright. The green teddy was draped over the back of the desk chair and Sherry's clothes were gone. He ran to the window. Her car was gone, as well. After pulling on shorts, Sam searched for a note, or any sign that she left without regrets, but found no clue. In his mind’s eye, Sam replayed their after-cuddling for hints of trouble. They had snuggled spoon fashion, cooing appreciation to one another. He had kissed her neck and shoulders, hugged and caressed until she’d drifted off to sleep inside their warm cocoon, or so he thought. Maybe he had fallen asleep first, and she was angry. 

'Was I insensitive? God, I hope I didn't make her feel used. Everything happened so naturally. It felt so right.' He picked up the telephone to dial and realized he didn't know her number. Running downstairs, he looked it up in the church directory. Four rings later, the answering machine picked up.

'What can I say? Who would hear this?' Sam hung up before the beep.

He looked at the clock and read 3:00 p.m. 'I have time.'

Sam grabbed the directory, jumped in his truck, and sped the twenty miles to the city. On the way, his fingers would drift up, and he’d enjoy a sniff of Sherry's sweet residue, to indulge the memory. 

Stopping at a new florist shop, he asked the clerk to help design a simple arrangement of Forget-me-nots and roses. 

On the card, he wrote: 

Dear Sherry, Thank you so much for your gift. I hope the sting wasn't too painful. 

With great affection, 

The Green Hornet.

He sealed the envelope and gave it to the clerk, asking, "How soon can this be delivered?" 

The florist glanced at the wall clock and then read the address on the delivery receipt. "For an extra $25.00 we can deliver it tonight. Otherwise, we’ll deliver it tomorrow."

"Add the twenty-five and deliver it tonight, please." Sam handed over his credit card, not caring if he was being ripped off. 

She smiled, and taking an educated guess said, "Good luck, I hope it works." 

"Me too," he said, and walked out.

The future in fate's hands, Sam headed to his mother's farm to pick up Chris. While he drove, he thought about his parent’s 41-year marriage. Most of what he held true about love and relationships came from watching them care for each other. His father taught him how to keep his priorities straight, how to focus on your wife as the only woman in your life. 

As Sam approached the rolling fields of the family homestead, he was reminded how wonderful growing up in the farming community had been. There was a unity within families and between families, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake when he chose not to farm the land. It was something special to work only one field away from home -- and something monotonous.

Since his father's death ten years ago, his mother had rented the pastures to neighbors, so she could afford the upkeep and stay independent. Instead of milkers, the barn was filled with city folk's horses -- weekend cowboys, buying a slice of the country life. 

Sam turned into the driveway. His mother sat on the porch swing, reading the newspaper, like every summer night. Parking the pickup in back, Sam entered the kitchen. Chris was at the table, dunking fresh baked oatmeal-raisin cookies in a tall glass of milk. 

The smell transported Sam back to second grade. "How's it goin', Son?" He kissed the top of his head, then walked to the sink, and sadly washed Sherry off his fingers. 

"Good Dad. I helped Grandma make some cookies. Want one?"

Sam picked one from the top of a warm pile and it melted on his tongue. "Mmmmm, you guys should start a bakery." He tousled Chris’s hair. "I'm goin' out to talk to Grandma."

"Okay... Hey Dad, what's a spider's favorite place on a computer?"

Sam stopped, played dumb, and said, "I give up. What?" 

"A website! Get it?"

Sam laughed. "Very funny. Stay in school." 

"Daaad."

Out on the porch, Sam walked over to his mother and kissed her curly white hair. "Hi, Mom. How ya doin'?" and sat down in the wicker rocker.

"It's a good life if you don't weaken," she said, without removing her eyes from the paper. "How's everything with you, Son?"

He didn't answer right away, and eventually felt her eyes burning into him over the top of the paper. "What's eating you?"

Noncommittal, he asked, "How many years difference was there between you and Dad?"

Mom was good at reading between the lines. "Who is she, Sam?" 

Lying, he said, "No one in particular. But I’ve been thinking about the single women I know... and most of them are a lot younger. Someday I plan on dating again, and I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Why not? That's what a woman does to a man. Makes him think with that head in his pants first, then she convinces the one on his shoulders that he can't do no better. How do you think we control you oafs?"

"C'mon, Ma!" Her frankness always flustered him.

"Oh, you want a serious answer." She put down the paper. "Your father was eleven years older. Not that it mattered much." 

Sam waited, expecting more. 

"When he got back from the war, he needed time to settle down. They didn't give emotional problems fancy names like Post-traumatic Stress Syndrome back then. He suffered nightmares a long time after. Other girls just passed him by year after year, their loss." 

Her eyes were swimming. Embarrassed, she picked up the paper and talked through the headlines. "It's a matter of understanding each other, and loving the person's heart. We all make mistakes... but down deep where it counts, we don't change much. Once a good person, always good. Your father had problems, but his heart was in the right place." 

The paper trembled slightly in the bony grip.

Sam broke a lengthy silence. "I remember one summer, when Dad and I were coming back with a wagonload of hay. He stopped at a hedgerow to pick some wild flowers for you, and taught me the best lesson about choosing a wife. He said, 'Son, when you marry, pick a woman that's too good for you, and then spend the rest of your life proving you deserve her. You'll live a happy life'."

A choked whimper floated over the paper. 

"Thanks for watching Chris. I'd better get home. See you tomorrow."

A weak, "Goodnight," followed Sam in the door.

***

Sam checked the answering machine for messages, and there were none.

Chris went to bed at 9:00. 

At 9:30, Sam listened to Sherry's phone ring, then the answering machine message, and the tone. "Hi, Sherry. It's Sam Colton. I was wondering..." 

A rattling sound and then, "Hi, Sam," she answered, in a voice soft and distant.

"Hi, Sherry! How are you? I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye." He paused, but no explanation was forth coming. "Did you get a delivery this evening?"

"... Yes, thank you, they're beautiful... The note was cute...Green Hornet, huh?..." 

This was going no where. "What happened? Did I offend you? I thought everything was fine between us, in fact, we were spectacular." He waited, wishing he could see if she was turning pink.

"...You were wonderful, Sam... I felt so special... I just don't think you're ready for this... I'm not ready..." 

Softly he said, "Please... just tell me what went wrong."

"Sam... you talk in your sleep." Once she started, the truth broke through the dam of her hesitancy. "You tossed and turned, repeating Jan's name. You obviously aren't comfortable with anyone else yet. And frankly, I think we rushed into this. We let our circumstances control our emotions. I don't want to be a fling. Our behavior goes against our faith... I believe in that old adage, 'If you give away the milk, no one will want to buy the cow'." 

Sam understood her feelings, the last statement maybe the most telling. "Sherry, I hate that saying... But, I'll use the analogy of women as cows for a minute. Some idiot that lived in the city must've made that stupid thing up, because I'm a country boy and I don't think that way. Granted, there is truth in not giving away something precious to fools. But, as a farmer’s son, I know the value of a good cow. 

Pretend there was a farmer who could only afford one cow. And let's say he owned a cow that produced the most delicious, life-sustaining milk he'd ever tasted. Then his cow dies, and he thought he'd never taste milk so delicious again. One day, a miracle happens, he has the chance to sample milk that rivals the taste of the beloved first cow. He feels better than he ever thought possible." His volume increased as he made his point. "Wouldn't he want to buy that cow, to possess that life giving milk all for himself? Care for that cow, cherish that cow, never want to lose that cow?" 

She laughed, "All right, all right, don't have a cow!" She paused. "What about Jan?"

This was a tougher question. "I honestly can't remember what I was dreaming. But I know when I woke up I was thinking of you. Listen Sherry... Jan will always be with me. If it wasn't for her I may not have had the pleasure of your company. So, to say that I'm not over her is unfair. I'll never forget her. I can only move on... She seemed to believe you and I might be on the same path."

After a lingering silence, Sherry said, "Sam, I know that you'll never forget Jan... Neither will I. I don't expect that. I think part of my problem is guilt I have for trying to be like Jan to attract you. I don't want you to think of me as a copy. I want you to like me for who I am."

"Well, I like everything I've seen so far... in every sense and variation of the word." He smiled, thought about her blushing, and wondered if she'd ever stop. "If you want to keep your milk in the cooler, I understand. Just don't throw me out of the barn. And at least let me feed you occasionally... maybe Friday night? I have to know that you are well taken care of."

A soft giggle reassured Sam that all was not lost.

"Friday would be great." 

"Okay, then, I'll call you."

"Thanks again for the flowers."

"No. Thank you for today."

In the darkened study, Sam thought, 'Here I am, falling for the first woman that shows me any affection, just like Jan predicted. But, at least it's the woman that she approved...' He smiled, thinking of Jan giving "The Good Wife-keeping Seal of Approval". 'I can't rush this.'

Up in the bathroom, soaping his ring finger, Sam pulled and twisted until, finally the wedding band slid over his knuckle. He made a mental note to collect boxes to put old clothes in.

* * *

Sam's life cycle of good-news-bad-news continued with Wednesday's mail delivery. Surrounded by shelves of worldly knowledge, he lacked some fundamental understanding of life. Chris's deplorable report card, along with a polite letter from his teacher, lay open on the desk. He picked up the letter and reread the disappointing news:

Dear Mr. Colton,

I understand that this has been a year of great sorrow for Chris and for you. The unfortunate loss of his mother seems to have left Chris without an interest in school. A formerly bright student, this year has seen his work slip to barely passing. I would recommend, in Chris's best interest, counseling and tutoring over the summer, so that he will be better able to cope with the challenge of school this fall.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Katherine Gridley

Sam covered his face, and thought, 'I've failed him.’ He’d idly watched Chris's grades plummet over the report periods, always hoping he would get back on track. Obviously, he'd made a critical error in judgement, thinking that if he ignored the problem it would heal with time. Sam hid under his own blanket of grief and abandoned his son's needs. The stupid jokes they shared were only a scab on the surface of Chris's immature, pained psyche. 'He doesn't know how to cope. I'm an idiot!' At times like these, Jan always knew what was best. His weakness was her strength. They completed each other. 

Sherry's telephone number dialed itself using his finger. The answering machine picked up. "Hi Sherry, it's Sam--"

The line rattled, then, "Hi Sam." 

The voice sounded like a smile, so he smiled back. "How are you? Am I interrupting anything?"

"Yes, you've rescued me from the boredom of folding laundry. So now you have to keep me company until I'm done."

"Okay, but you'll have to call me when I'm dusting."

"Yeah right, like men dust. You probably bring in the leaf blower and just move it around." 

He laughed. Then the line became quiet. 

"I called to ask your professional opinion as a teacher. I've just received Chris's year-end report card and it's barely passing. His teacher, Mrs. Gridley, sent a letter." Sam read the letter aloud then waited.

After a short pause, she said, "I know Mrs. Gridley. She’s a fine teacher and a lovely woman. So, I accept her opinion as valid. Has Chris ever had any counseling?"

"Well... after Jan's funeral, we sat down with the Pastor and talked about death and heaven. Where his mother is now and how she’s happy and not sick anymore."

A pause and then, "To be honest, Sam, I haven't noticed any problems with his Sunday school lessons. Mrs. Gridley is nearing retirement, and maybe she can't engage the kids interest in their schoolwork as easily as she used too." Another brief pause. "Chris is a very bright student... for me."

Sam thought about telling how Chris missed his mother less when she was around. That possibly her similarities with Jan made Chris feel closer to her and less depressed. 'No, I can't tell her that. It might make her feel anxious or sad or worse... Maybe she's already figured it out. I don't want to reinforce any negative feelings.'

"If you want, Sam, I'll come over and do some testing with him. I'd be happy to tutor him in area's that are weak. He'll be ready for the second grade in no time at all."

"Would you? That would be great." Some heaviness lifted from his heart. This seemed like a simple solution to a complex problem. "I'll pay you for your time. Are you working this summer? When would you want to start?" 

"If it will ease your mind, I can see him as soon as possible. I'm not working." A moment passed, and she added, "I'm pursuing other interests this summer."

Moved by her offer to help, he didn't grasp the implication of her last comment. "How would this Friday be for you? I’ll give you directions to my mother's place, and then I'll pick you up there, to take you to dinner."

"Why Sam, are you asking me home to meet your mother already?" She laughed, then continued. "That'd be fine. Don't even think of trying to pay me. I'd be insulted." 

Sam gave her directions and finalized the details. They lingered with small talk, neither in a hurry to say goodbye. Afterwards, feeling energized, Sam headed to the basement weight room to work off the pent up emotions the force of nature named Sherry had created.

Thursday, Sam called his Mother and informed her about Chris's bad report card, and asked if it would be okay for Sherry to stop by and work with Chris. 

Once everything was set, time dragged. 

Friday night finally arrived. After stopping home to clean up, Sam pulled into the farmhouse driveway. Mother, Chris and Sherry sat at the picnic table, in the shade of a sprawling oak, playing a board game. 

"Hi." Sam walked over and kissed his mother and Chris on the head, then resisted the strong temptation to continue on to the third. Sherry's head was down, appearing to concentrate on "Junior Scrabble". 

"Hey Dad, Ms. Walker is coming over twice a week to teach me," Chris beamed. "I'm learning how to spell by playing Scrabble. And we did math by playing cards. I kept score."

Sam shifted his gaze from Chris to Sherry, who was still trying to figure out how to add a "V" to the word television. The effort made her blush. 

They hadn't been physically near one another since they'd been intimate. Sam's heart pounded with recollection. The ability to remain cool waned. Soaking in her appearance, he noticed she'd cut her hair to shoulder length. It lay in soft layers around her face, as if the wind had combed it. 

The silence was too long. His mother was staring at him.

Sam said, "Wow, Twice a week. By the end of the summer you'll have to skip second grade and go right to college!"

General laughter lightened the mood.

Sherry rubbed Chris's back. "You may be right, Sam. He's a quick study. You'd better call the Harvard Admissions office on Monday." 

Chris basked in the attention, smiling and rolling his eyes.

"Sam, don't you have dinner reservations? You'd better get going." 

"Yes, Mother." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Why can't I go?" asked Chris.

"Because, young man, someone has to help me with the chores. So, come on. Let's feed the nags." Grandma dragged the disappointed boy away, and headed toward the barn.

A heavy silence hung in their absence until, Sam said, "Now I know how Adam and Eve felt after they ate the fruit." 

Sherry laughed. "You must be reading my mind."

They watched Chris open the pasture gate. The horses, anxious for the evening hay, thundered into the lane and headed to their stalls. A big sorrel curled out of the herd, tossed its head in their direction, and trotted over. 

Sherry stood up. "Who's this beauty?" The animal approached her, and nuzzled into Sherry's hair with a soft nicker. 

"That's Sadie Hawkins, Jan's mare. I think she smelled your shampoo, or maybe she's admiring your new hairstyle, which, by the way, looks lovely."

Smiling at Sam, she said, "Thank you." Making a sad face at Sadie, she asked, "Poor baby. Do you miss Jan too?" Sherry scratched its withers. The horse craned its neck and curled its upper lip in a sign of appreciation. 

"Okay girl, now go eat." Sherry shooed her away. Sadie trotted off to the barn.

"Along with all your other charms, you're a horse whisperer too." Sam winked at her.

"I used to spend summers on my Uncle's farm in Kansas. It was my home away from home. I won a couple of ribbons for barrel racing at the State Fair." She lifted her chin with a how-do-you-like-that smirk. 

'That's a face that should be kissed,’ thought Sam. ‘Starting over is tough. Once the delicious Sherry's been tasted, how do you resist the want of another sip?' He was staring and she was watching his lips, waiting. "I promised to feed you. Let's go, before I decide to eat you.” Embarrassed by the slip, he quickly said, "I’m sorry." 

"Don't be." She poked his arm and bounced beside him, swishing her skirt on the way to the truck. "Where're you taking me?"

His mind whirled at the question. So many lewd answers teased the tip of his tongue. Answers he would've fired off to Jan without reservation. 'I'm taking you outside, inside, orally, vaginally, missionary, doggie, in the hayloft, on a mountaintop, on the beach, to the moon... Variety is the spice of life and I've been without my spice girl for too long.' He said aloud, "A new restaurant just opened on the lake, Hawthorne's. I've never been there. Have you?" 

"No. It sounds nice."

The green tank top left Sherry’s neck and arms exposed. He wanted to put his arm around her, feel her naked shoulder under his palm. He opened the passenger door. 

"Thank you, sir."

Wishing she would slide over next to him, Sam drove off, and reminded himself, 'This is not a date. This is a thank-you, for helping Chris. Now stay focused on Platonic relations.’ 

A half-mile later, he asked, "Sharon, how did it go with Chris. Is he in trouble?" In his peripheral vision, he saw her glance over with a slightly pained expression. 'Was that because I didn't call her Sherry?' He kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. 

"Don't worry about his academics, Samuel. If there's a problem with school, it's because he's bored. Jan's death may have something to do with his poor performance, but I didn't see it today. I'll work with him and he'll be ready in the fall."




Dead Write Ch. 05



"With a teacher like you, what little boy wouldn't pay attention? I know a big boy that's willing to... Sorry." 

"Willing to what? Go ahead, say it... I want you to."

He smiled and looked into the sparkling eyes watching his lips. "I know a big boy that's willing to... improve his performance just for you."

She blushed, met his eyes, held them for long seconds, and then looked out her door window. "I bet you're an apt pupil."

After miles of electric silence, Sherry said, "I like your mother. I see where you get your sense of humor. She really loves Chris. She’s going to work with him in between the days that I see him. I bet you didn't get away with much growing up. Sometimes I felt like she could read my mind."

"No, I couldn't get anything by her, and still can't. She’s a keen judge of character."

They began family history chitchat that lasted until they arrived at the restaurant. Sitting in a secluded booth with a view of the lake, they talked memories -- childhood, adolescent, college, family and marriage.

"You'll never believe who called me yesterday, Sam. A lawyer working for Bob's second wife. She's divorcing him, and they want me to testify about his spousal abuse. I really don't want to but... I feel obliged to help another woman." She laughed uneasily, and said, "In fact, I owe her a debt of gratitude for taking him away. I was hoping I'd never have to see him again." She reached across the table and covered his hand. "I was wondering if you'd go with me for… moral support," she giggled. 

"What's funny about that?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, I told you what I was thinking, now 'fess up." 

"Okay, I was thinking,” she swallowed hard, “or you could come for immoral support." 

He turned his hand over and gently squeezed hers. "I'll be there in whatever supporting role you prefer,” he said, while tracing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. 

They continued to talk, breaking the link only when the waiter brought their food. 

The meals gradually disappeared amid discussions, laughs and samples offered from the other’s fork. When finished, they walked side by side down to the lake and out onto the restaurant's pier, past young lovers huddled in private communion. 

Leaning against the rail, they watched the red sun slip beneath the liquid horizon. 

Sam decided to put voice to an idea. "Sherry, you know what I think is foolish?"

Watching the top of the sun disappear into the water, Sherry said, "No, what?" 

"Acting like this is our first date."

She turned on the rail and faced him. "Oh really. How do you think we should be acting?" 

"This feels more like our third month together. We know each other, fairly well. I'm very fond of you. And you idolize me."

"Don't press your luck, Mr. Hornet." Sherry moved closer, seeming to test his endurance. "So how do people act in the third month of dating?"

Sam didn't speak. Instead, he nodded toward the twenty-something couple that looked conjoined at the lips, hips and everywhere in between. 

In a voice filled with mock bewilderment, she said, "And if we act like that, what's the advantage?" 

"Initially... feeling loved." Sam put one arm around her shoulders and the other hand on the small of her back. Burying his face her hair, he said, "Ultimately... feeling a little heaven on earth." 

Sherry didn't protest. She did wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tight, almost fearfully tight. 

Sam experienced the rush of familiar excitement mixed with new. He craved this contact, and renounced his go-slow plan. "This feels so nice." Her hair tickled his lips.

"Mmmm, Yes it does. I feel like a schoolgirl."

"You feel like a woman. A beautiful woman." 

He bent down and she tipped back. The tender kiss lingered. His right hand played in her tresses; the other stroked her back. Her hands moved up and made small, insistent circles on his shoulder blades. Tongues began to dance, taking turns as the lead partner. It was their first public display to the world, declaring "I am hers" and "I am his."

They broke apart when the incendiary embrace became unbearable.

"So... where did you learn about appropriate behavior during the third month of dating?" Sherry asked, a trifle breathless. 

"Oldgeezers.com." 

Laughing, she took his arm, and they strolled to the truck in the summer twilight.

Sam guided Sherry to the driver's side and made her enter through his door. Laughing, she tried to slide all the way over to the passenger side. Sam grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. After a minor struggle, with shrieks of ticklish persuasion, she let him buckle her in place beside him. 

"You're such a brute, Sam." She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

He drove home with one hand on the wheel and the other around Sherry. His fingers caressed her bare shoulder, neck and cheek. As they turned into the farm, the moon began to peek over the horizon. Its crown, magnified by the rising heat, appeared four times the normal size. 

"Sherry, it looks like a full moon tonight."

She sat upright. "Wow, it's huge!"

"How 'bout a horseback ride? I know a great place to stargaze, moongaze or,” he waggled his eyebrows, “gaze into my eyes. Your choice."

She gave him a sideways glance, "Give me a pin so I can let some air out of your ego. I can look at your eyes any old time. But that moon... I'd like to see that." She looked down at her skirt. "But I can't ride in this."

"If you don't mind wearing Jan's clothes, we kept some here for occasions like this." 

"If it's okay with you, it's okay with me." Excited by the prospect of adventure, she kissed his cheek, taking advantage of the third month rule. "Show me to the tack room and the horses and I'll saddle them up while you change. Bring my clothes down here and I'll change in the barn."

Impressed by her assertiveness, Sam said, "Sounds like a plan."

Compared to the cool truck, the barn seemed oppressive as they walked side by side down the asphalt alley. Sam began to sweat and Sherry's arms glistened. He brought Sadie and Buster out from their stalls, and carried out the saddles and blankets before Sherry chased him away to retrieve the clothes from the house. 

Stopping at the barn door, Sam turned back to watch her skilled movements prepare the mounts. Maybe it was being raised on a farm, where hard work and sweaty bodies were the norm and prissy women weren't tolerated, that made the sight of a laboring woman sensuous. Or maybe it was the fact that Jan never really wanted a horse, she only tolerated them. She rode because he liked to. It was something they could do together, after his skin cancer forced them to sell the boat to lessen his sun exposure. They had enjoyed the late night rides, the swaying motion similar to the gentle rocking of the waves. But Jan held no great affection for the animals. Watching Sherry tend to the horses was refreshing. She talked to them, stroked them, and enjoyed their company. He wanted to stay and observe, but she angrily waved at him to get moving.

'She must think I'm watching to make sure she does it right.' Sam waved back before he turned away. 

They hadn't planned on being out so late. Mother had thoughtfully left the kitchen light on for him. He tiptoed upstairs and peeked into the spare room. Chris was tucked in for the night. Sam moved on, treading lightly down the hall towards his old room. 


His mother's bedroom door creaked opened. She stood squinting in the light, wearing the pink robe his father had given her more than a decade ago. "What’s goin' on, Sam?”

"I'm getting a change of clothes. We're going to ride up to the pond." 

She smiled, "I like her, Sam. She's a smart cookie... and sweet. She's really good with Chris. I can tell she loves children. But Sam... she's too good for the likes of you." She turned back in and closed the door.

Sam leaned his head against the jamb. "I love you, Ma." 

"I love you too, Son."

He collected the clothes and changed into shorts and a tee-shirt. When he returned to the barn Sherry was just tightening the last cinch. "What can I do to help?" He grinned.

"Good timing, Sam. I just finished." She wiped her arm across her damp forehead, the perspiration stains around her neck and arms and the clinging fabric of her top only served to make her more appealing. 

"Well, since I can't help get the horses ready," he said, bouncing her folded clothes in his palm, "maybe I can help --"

Sherry laughed, "You wish, cowboy.” She grabbed the pile from him and walked into the tack room. Without looking back, she said, "Nice legs, by the way."

While she changed, Sam walked the horses outside into the night breeze. A few minutes later, Sherry walked out in shorts and tee-shirt. The billowy top did little to hide the fact that she had removed her bra. The natural bounce of her freed breasts against the white fabric drew his eyes.

Looking at her damp face, he said, "You look enchanting." 

"Enchanting? Wake up Sam. I'm not Cinderella." She gave him the crooked smile, and said, "I bet you say that to all the braless women in tee-shirts." 

She'd caught him looking. "No... Only the braless women in that tee-shirt." He handed her Sadie's reigns. "I'm glad your not Cinderella because I ain't no Prince Charming." He swung up into Buster's saddle. "And given the choice between a princess and a scullery maid, I'd take the maid every time."

Sherry mounted, and asked, "What about an Indian princess?" Not waiting for an answer, she kicked Sadie into a trot, stealing a head start.

Kicking Buster, he said, "Hey, Little White Dove, wait up."

They rode quietly side by side. The rising moon behind them kept Sherry’s face in shadow. They each had a wheel rut to follow along the slight incline of the hayfield. Sherry’s thighs flexed in the stirrups, her torso swayed above the saddle. 

She took a deep breath and tipped her head back. "You have a lot more stars out here than I have in the city."

"Of course I do. I have a lot more room out here. But I can see the stars any old time." He continued to watch her.

"Sam... Sam, what am I going to do with you?" Sherry turned to look at him -- longingly he hoped. Suddenly, she kicked Sadie, and shouted, "Race ya!"

The thudding hooves left Sam coughing up dust. "Heeeyaa!" Buster leaped into a gallop. 

As they pounded along the shallow ruts, the scenery passed in a blur of shadowy fence posts. Buster began to overtake the smaller Sadie. Sherry glanced back to check the competition, so Sam pulled up slightly to let her win. Besides, the view was much better from second place. 

Sherry reined Sadie to a trot at the end of the lane. Sam and Buster close behind. 

"I win!" she said, a glaze of moonlight on her face. 

"Nice riding White Dove. What did you win?"

A thoughtful moment and then, "I want to see more of you, Running Bare. That’s bare, spelled b-a-r-e." She winked.

"Oh, I get it. One of the three-month-rules must be that from now on you can be a cock-tease." He laughed, but she remained smiling and silent. 

"The pond's over here." Sam turned Buster down a hedgerow and Sadie fell in behind. 

They turned left, cut across an open field, and approached a one-acre pond, reflecting the brilliant moonlight. On the opposite bank, a granite outcrop made a ten-foot cliff at the water's edge. The sides of the ledge tapered down to a grassy shoreline.

"To really appreciate the moonlight we have to be on the other side." Sam pointed to the right. "We can get there by going around the long way, or, if you really want some fun, we can swim across.” He rode closer to see Sherry’s face, and asked, “Have you ever ridden a swimming horse? They could use some cooling off, and so could I."

Even in the dark, her delight and excitement were easily seen. "No I haven't, but I've always wondered what it would be like. What do we do?"

Sam dismounted. "First we take off the saddles and leave them here. Then, all you need to do is get her started and hang on. The horses are used to this, and know the way. Don't pull on the reigns, just hug her neck and squeeze your knees. Try to keep your weight centered. If you float off, swim away to the side so you don’t get kicked.” He raised an eyebrow, and asked, “You can swim, can't you?"

Wearing the now familiar get-real look, she said, "Yes, I can swim." Rubbing her hands together, she squeaked, "This is so cool." 

After removing their shoes and socks and the horses saddles, Sam gave Sherry a leg up onto Sadie and then he mounted Buster. "You ready?"

"Ready!"

Sam nudged Buster into the water. Sherry and Sadie followed alongside. The water level gradually deepened, and refreshed them inch by inch.

Soon, the horses were swimming. The only sounds were the animals' huffing breaths and the gurgling water around their bodies. The surge of muscular kicks pulsed beneath them. Rippled water twinkled in the reflected light. Reaching a foothold on the other side, the horses clambered out, each still carrying its rider. 

"Wow! That was so cool, Sam! What a blast," said Sherry, moon-beaming a smile.

Sam thrilled at giving her this new experience. "That is pretty neat, isn't it." 

They slid off the horses and let them drink their fill, then tethered them to a tree. Sadie and Buster flicked their tails, wagged their heads and shook their hides to shed excess water. 

Drenched in moonlight, the dripping humans walked up to the top of the granite boulder and faced one another. They openly stared, taking time to enjoy the view of matted clothing. Rivulets streamed down their legs and pooled around their bare feet. 

Sherry's shameless gaze resembled the wanton desire Sam had seen in the bedroom only four days ago. It seemed like ages. He pulled off his shirt and wrung out the excess water. Goose bumps grew on his chilled skin. Laying out the shirt to dry, he sat down and faced the shimmering pond. "Go ahead and wring yours out. I won't look, Scout's honor." He held up his right hand in the Scout salute.

"Funny, I can't picture you as a Boy Scout."

Hearing water rain down on the rock, he said, "Actually, I wasn't," and turned for a glimpse of her naked torso. 

"Sam!" She whacked his face with the wet shirt. 

Unsatisfied, he turned away and whined, "Peeking is allowed in the third month.” 

There was movement to his right, so he peeked again. Four feet away, Sherry sat down and faced him, topless. She leaned back on her hands. The reflective water danced waves of light over her ivory breasts. He tried not to leer. Instead, he turned and placed his feet against hers. The cool surfaces mismatched in size, he bent his toes over hers. She wiggled them. 

Boldly, her eyes poured over him. "Are you really 45?" 

"Yes, I really am," he said, and frowned. His eyes wandered up her tanned legs, seeming even darker when compared to his pasty-white shins. "And you are... thirty?" 

"No."

"Seventeen."

"No!" 

"Twenty-nine?"

"Yes, I've been twenty-nine for seven years... are you satisfied now?"

Sam drifted into one of his dark moods. "I haven't been satisfied since Monday," he reminded her. 

She smiled. 

He asked, "Are you going to run off with a younger man?"

"Are you going to run off with a younger woman?" She countered.

"I'm not running off anywhere. I have a son to raise." The conversation had taken a serious turn, much more serious than he’d intended.

Sherry sat up and inched forward between Sam's legs. She lifted his left foot, placed it on her lap and began to work her fingers into its sole. "Yes, You do have a son to raise don't you, Sam. That's a huge responsibility. And you don't want some flighty bimbo wasting your time. Is that what you're saying?" With her eyes fixed on his blue-veined foot, she asked, "What do you want?"

Sam watched her fingers push between his toes. The pleasant sensation both relaxed and stimulated. His eyes wandered to her breasts, swaying with the motion of her hands. "This ain't bad for a start," he said, postponing a serious answer to her question.

Sherry put that foot aside and started on the other. 

A familiar sorrow continued to grow, despite the pleasant massage. Sam pulled his foot away, turned and inspected the moon's dappled surface through watery eyes. "I want what I lost." 

The moon looked so close, and yet impossible to touch. "Sometimes...my marriage feels like a trip to the moon. I can remember the effort. I remember how long it took to get there, the excitement when we arrived. And now... I'm stuck back on earth, wanting a return trip, and it really sucks knowing that no one has ever gone back. No one ever gets to walk on the moon twice."

Sherry stood up and moved behind him. The night air was filled with the sounds of crickets and peepers. Lightening bugs floated fairy-like over the pond surface. The vision was lovely, but it didn't offer the near weightless thrill as dancing on the moon.


He heard shuffling, and then Sherry pressed against his back, encircled him in a bear hug, and kissed his shoulder. Whispering in his ear, she said, "Sam, those lunar missions always had three people. And I feel like I've been to the moon too. You and Jan were the two lucky astronauts that went to the surface and shared a glorious experience, while I was that third one, orbiting overhead, lonely and envious." 

Her hands slipped down his stomach and worked open the button on his shorts. She pulled down the zipper and slid her warm hand over his cool penis. "I know where you've been, Sam. I've watched you. I may not know how it feels to walk on the moon, but I know how it feels to be weightless.” Sherry moved in front, and she was nude. “I know I can put you in orbit and bring you back to earth. I'm in love with you, Sam Colton. And I know the way to the moon."

Straddling Sam's lap, she bent down and pulled the damp shorts from his legs. She knelt over his thighs and leaned against his chest. Holding his head between her hands, she kissed him with an urgency he hadn't felt from her before. One hand moved to his growing erection and stroked it to readiness. The heated kiss continued as he felt her warm moisture cover him. He cupped her bottom. His fingers kneaded the fleshy globes, while helping her lift and relax as she rode him. Sam's lips left her mouth to suckle a breast. Sherry moaned in reaction, expressing a needful passion. His right hand slipped between them to plunder her clitoris. The moans became continuous, as she squeezed him inside and out. Sherry leaned back on her arms, and increased the speed of her thrusting. He caressed her stomach, chest and pubis, until, snapping upright, she screamed out a thunderous climax, driving him to explode within her. His lips sought hers. The scream of release filled his mouth and lungs. They clung desperately to each other in the moonlight, feeling weightless.



Dead Write Ch. 06



* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *

Chapter 6

Saturday dawned wonderfully dreary. The rain pelting the windows made a delightful sound. It signaled a rainout for the Deacon's painters. Chris was away all afternoon, on a play-date with cousins. Which meant she’d have lingering time alone with Sam, while he made the promised plumbing repairs. Her flesh heated just thinking about his plumbing prowess. 

Sherry assessed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A satisfied smile grew. Her body was exceptional, and she’d be a desirable acquisition for Sam's long-term portfolio. Shapely legs flexed and twisted side to side, as she examined her braless peak dividends, available only to a certain preferred shareholder. 

"I predict there will be a bare market today. Clothing will drop suddenly." With an impish smile, she said, "What happened to the prim Sunday school teacher that used to live here?"

She’d never desired a man’s company so much. ‘And I'll do anything to keep it... Oh God, forgive my covetousness.’ Time with Sam was like getting reacquainted with an old friend and finding out you still click, still complete each other's sentences. ‘And he's funny.’ Her smile began to hurt.

Those are the ingredients for love, and she'd told him so. The "L" word had jumped from her lips before she could rein it in-- the desire to say it overpowering. Declaring, "I love you", this early in their relationship was risky, possibly fatal. Sam hadn't echoed the sentiment. She hoped his hesitancy reaffirmed her belief that if he ever said, “I love you,” it would be the truth, and not just an impulsive outburst. 

'I'm the impulsive one.' 

Only a few days ago, she wanted to slow things down, afraid he wouldn't want to buy the cow if he got the milk for free. Now she wanted to bath him in it, prove her milk capable of quenching any thirst. There was no need for him to find another dairy. 

"I’ve got all the milk he can handle." She boasted to the temptress in the mirror.

Thoughts drifted back to the night before. They’d made love under the full moon, then rode back to the barn on one horse. She sat backwards in the saddle to face him. His hands roamed over her as they kissed, and planned today's visit.

Now Sam was coming over, and she was ready, willing, and adorable. 

'What more could a man want?' She asked herself, 'Brains? A Master's degree in education should cover it, any questions? I'm the total package... now to make Sam accept delivery.' 

She moved into the living room, and paced in front of the window, watching for his truck. "I feel like I'm in an Old Spice commercial."

The wait made her nervous. After twenty minutes, her bolstered confidence waned. Inherent self-doubt produced fear of rejection. 'Bob loved me, and he left.' Sherry made comparisons to stem the flow of negative thoughts. ‘Bob isn't half the man Sam is. He’s evil. Sam is gentle and kind.’ 

A young, inexperienced Sherry had mistaken Bob's brusque and demeaning treatment as manly. His arrogance seemed like confidence to her naive soul. She’d thought, 'Here's a man I can depend on to take care of our family'. 

In reality, his bravado proved to be a fragile shell. Underneath, there was a jealous, petty, self-centered monster that found joy in being a bully. She had no opinion worth hearing. Her job was to act the trophy wife and make him look important. When she grew a backbone, he tried to break it. The day he left had been one of her happiest.

‘Bob is weak. Sam is strong.’ 

Sam seemed to be the ideal husband, and she’d envied Jan. Watching them together was like watching newlyweds -- pecks on cheeks, hand holding. Sherry had even caught them playing footsie during a church cantata. 

She’d watched Sam closely, and tried to find a crack in his fidelity. 'No man is that loyal,' she’d thought. 

However, other than a fleeting glance, Sam never paid attention to other women. Unlike Bob, whom she'd have to elbow to stop him from ogling a firm backside in a short skirt, showing no respect for his wife’s sensibilities. She had wondered, 'Is it my fault,' and befriended Jan hoping to learn the secret of their happy marriage. Sadly, she discovered there was no magic secret. 

Sherry blankly stared out the window, and descended into the dark hole of insecurity that living with Bob had dug. 'Seven years alone is a long time. Can I keep Sam interested? Will he ever love me the way he loved Jan? The way I love him?' 

To lessen the anxiety, Sherry walked to her desk, retrieved the "Sam" notebook, and opened it to the dog-eared page entitled "Intimacy". Jan had written the most personal details of their physical couplings and opened Sherry's eyes to a joining of bodies and souls previously unknown. After the first read, a voyeuristic shame had filled her, like she'd watched them through the bedroom window. The adult videos Bob had made her watch were anonymous acts of lust that disgusted her. This journal, although specific in description, did not disgust. It excited. She knew these people. This was real love in action. She’d wondered why Jan wrote in such graphic detail.

After Sherry’s initial embarrassment cooled, the pages became worn from turning. She’d decided this is how married sex should be, unfettered by shame and modesty. The Bible says the marriage bed is undefiled. So, why not explore the scope of sexuality with your mate? Her comfort with these erotic vignettes increased, until she couldn't resist her pent-up arousal. She pictured herself with Sam, felt his caress through her own fingers and satisfied the ache of want created by Jan's narrative. Wasn't that what Jan expected? Wasn't that why she sent this diary, to create a desire for Sam?

One short commentary bothered Sherry. 

Jan wrote:

Sam is the best lover. However, I have this dark need for something his kindness seems unable to satisfy. Maybe because he is so gentle, I found myself wanting rougher treatment. I wanted him to be demanding, forceful, craving my body to the point of forcing himself on me. Of course, I would willingly let him have his way with me, and I don't fantasize about rape. But I think I wanted to feel that his attraction to me was overpowering, in a primal, instinctive fashion. We experimented with role-playing, complete with rules of conduct, and an escape word that ended the act if I became uncomfortable. Sam just could not find it within himself to be forceful and aroused at the same time. I say this to his credit and my shame.

Sherry knew what violence felt like. That was Bob's nature. She didn’t think it was sexy, only demeaning. Her physical satisfaction had been an unnecessary byproduct.

The doorbell rang, and Sherry jumped. Time had stopped. She'd been lost in the tactile delight of sexual thoughts. Heart pounding, she quickly hid the notebook under a stack of magazines, rushed to the door, and swung it wide as her smile.

"Hi, Sam, you're late."

His smile broadened, "Sherry, you look lovely… as usual." 

The deep brown eyes wandered down her body. She tingled.

"Do you have pencils in your shirt or are you just happy to see me?" he asked, with eyes fixed on her breasts. 

Her nipples hardened some more. The blush, she so wanted to control, escaped up her neck and face. His nearness brought Jan's erotica closer to reality. Close enough to touch.

"Of course I'm happy to see you, Sam," she said, moving aside to let him enter. "It's also a little chilly. Don't let your head swell... or anything else." 

Sam put his plumbing paraphernalia on the floor, and said, "Since you're a new customer I require partial payment up front before starting any work." Pulling Sherry into his arms, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. His mouth covered hers. 

Her legs weakened as his muscled body pressed against her. His strength supported her weight. Suddenly, an old, trapped feeling made her push away. With only slight resistance, she broke free. 

"Are you okay, Sherry?" Sam held her gingerly at arm’s length. "You look a little peaked."

She smiled up. "I'm fine, Sam. You just make me swoon."

"Swoon? Yeah right, I bet you say that to all the plumbers." Rubbing her shoulders, he asked, "Are you recovered enough to help me? You know it will cost more if I have to do this alone." Picking up his tools, he headed to the basement. "By the way, I wore my loose shorts so I can flash my anal cleft when I bend over."

She followed, laughing, "Ooo, with job perks like that, I may have more work for you. Do you know anything about showerheads?" 

He turned and winked, "I can't give away all my trade secrets."

Once the house water supply was shut off, Sherry ran around and opened faucets to drain the piping, glad for some time to cool off. When she returned to the bathroom, Sam was busy setting out his tools and parts. "Everything open upstairs?"

"Yes, boss." She saluted. "Anything else I can do?"

"My, my, aren't you the eager beaver apprentice." 

She couldn't resist saying, "C'mon, Sam, focus on the job. Leave my eager beaver out of this." 

He bent down and put a pan under the pipe connected to the toilet tank. "Okay, now first..." His muscled back rippled beneath the tee shirt as he worked. "...I'll replace the old galvanized supply nipple with a new brass one." 

"Hey, I don't see any ass crack." She complained.

Shaking his head, he said, "I only told you that to get you to help."

"I may have to call the Better Business Bureau and file a protest,” she warned. “File a false advertising claim or something."

There was a gurgling sound as Sam worked. "What can I do to make you reconsider?"

"You'll have to make it up to me. Show me something better."

Rising to his feet, he moved toward her. Unlike the last time together in this confined space, Sherry stood her ground. 

"Okay, I'll show you my ballcock." He lifted to eye level a brass tank valve with a large orange float ball.

"Impressive! My what a big ball it has." She inspected the device. "Where's the cock part?" 

Sam moved the float lever up and down, and said, "Well... the cock part is really the motion it makes to shut off the water flow, like cocking a gun. There is no physical cock."

She frowned, "That's very disappointing. I'm sure that's a fine specimen, as ballcocks go. And it may be enough to impress your other customers, but I need something more substantial than just a motion. You promised me a view of anal cleft. Replacing it with some invisible cock movement will not suffice." 

He smiled wickedly and said, "You're funny,” and then turned back to install the unsatisfying ballcock.

"I am doubly disappointed now, Mister Plumber. First no cleft, then no cock, you can't leave customers unsatisfied and expect repeat business." 

Sam finished and walked out, saying, "Let me turn on the water. Then we will see who's left unsatisfied." 

Sherry’s heart began to pound. She'd teased him into a corner, and found she was standing in it with eager beaver anticipation.

From the water meter, he yelled, "Sherry, go upstairs and turn off the faucets when the water starts coming out, please."

Racing upstairs, she followed the sound of splashing water. After the faucets were all turned off, she sat on the raggedy couch and waited impatiently.

Sam walked across the kitchen. 

She heard the water running. 'Must be washing his hands.' Her eyes followed him into the room. 'I can't believe he's 45.' His shorts revealed powerful muscles that flexed around his knees. Her eyes wandered to his groin, there seemed to be something happening there. The gaze continued up over his firm chest, and broad shoulders. Unconsciously, her lips parted and her tongue made them moist and shiny. 

His mouth was grinning. 

Their eyes met, unashamed.

Sam sat next to her, two inches from leg-to-leg contact. He turned sideways, put his elbow on the back of the couch, rested his head on his palm, and said, "You're in a funny mood today." He reached out to Sherry's hair, and gently smoothed loose strands behind her ear. 

There must have been a problem, because he repeated the motion, sweeping her hair and ear, which was fine with her. It felt loving and tender. The caress seemed to touch a nerve connected to Sherry's breasts. The nipples swelled noticeably. Sam seemed more interested in her face. 

'Isn't he sweet.' 

Sam said, "I think we should talk about last night."

"You do?" Sherry’s body stiffened. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, not wanting to bring up the I-love-you thing if he didn't. 

He stopped touching her. That was a bad sign. However, he still looked into her eyes. That was good sign.

"First I want to thank you for your... compassion. I still get these... spontaneous moments of grief. Certain things trigger them, and I've decided to just let the emotion out instead of bottling it all up." He laughed, and warned her, "If you keep giving me therapeutic sex every time I feel sad I may never want to be happy."

She nervously laughed with him.

Sam continued, "Sherry..."

Here it comes!

"... You said you love me... and I'll understand if you want to take it back. It was an emotional moment. You were very sweet and kind..." 

"I don't want too." 

Sam stood and began to pace in front of the couch. "I don't want to upset you but, here's the thing, I'm not ready to say those words to anyone... someday I will." 

"I understand. It's still too soon," she said, and watched his furrowed brow.

He knelt and laid his hands over hers. "If you want to date other men, I'm fine with that. But... What I was wondering... God, this feels like high school all over again... would you be willing to date only me for a while?"

Sherry smiled, "Why Sam Colton, are you asking me to go steady?"

He laughed, "I guess so."

"Do I get to wear your letterman sweater?"

Grinning, he said, "If I can find it." Then seriously, added, " You will always be special to me, and I don't want you to feel obligated or... you seem tense today... maybe tense isn't right... more flirtatious than usual... Please, don't think because you said 'I love you' that I expect you to..." looking unsure, he said, "For lack of a better term, put out." 

"What!" Sherry reacted angrily, "You think I'm so desperate, so weak, I'd prostitute myself to keep you!" Then she remembered how desperately she did want him, and she was willing to 'put out' to hold on. 

"No, no, that's not what I mean.” He sank back on his heels, frustrated. “I don't want you to feel pressured. I'm not going to be demanding. That's all." 

Sherry slid off the couch, straddled his knees, and put her arms around his neck. Sam entwined his fingers at the small of her back.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said, and rested her forehead against his, while running her fingers through his hair. "Sam, I don't feel pressured at all. You're not demanding. You're giving. And all I want to do is give as good as I get." She lightly kissed him. "Don't ever feel pressured to say you love me." She smiled, and added, "I'm praying that you will someday. But I don't want to hear it, unless you mean it." 

Their lips locked together, warm and alive. 

Sam groaned, when Sherry lifted the back of his shirt and slid her hands underneath. His hands returned the favor. 

Feeling her shirt rise up, Sherry pushed away, and with a stern expression said, "Sam, I can't be your Sex Therapist any more. I’ve become too personally involved.” She watched him try to hide the disappointment, before adding, “I've decided to just fuck you for the pleasure of it." 

She trapped his shocked laughter against her lips. Laughing in return, their teeth clinked together like glasses raised in a toast. 

Their impassioned bodies soon eclipsed the foolishness of their lips, as they began to satisfy the hunger of the flesh. Sam nuzzled, while his hands played up her spine, tickling ever higher. Her shirt caught briefly, and then popped up, exposing the pink-capped breasts. Teased against Sam's shirt, her nipples sent explosive messages to her groin. Liquid flowed between her parted legs as her eager-beaver dam burst from a building pressure. 

She pushed away. 'Not yet!' she thought. 

Reluctantly, Sam stopped. 

Sherry pulled down her shirt and slid back up on the couch, a little dizzy. Opening her eyes, Sam sat there with a big grin on his face and something bigger tenting out his shorts.

She managed to whisper, "I'm not paying in full until you finish your work, Mister Plumber." 

Sam stood. "The customer's always right." Without pretense, he reached into his shorts to reposition the erection more comfortably.

"I see your equipment is ready." She held out her hand. Sam pulled her upright and up tight. She felt his rigid tool against her belly and pushed away. Taking him by the hand, she led him down the hall. The revelation that she controlled the pace of this seduction was an unfamiliar pleasure. Bob had never let her control anything except yes or no, and even that was marginal. There had never been room for playful teasing. His rush to complete the act overshadowed any imaginative foreplay. She looked back at Sam, who obviously wasn't disappointed by the delay. He winked and looked pleased by her leadership. 'This is why some women are called a cock tease,' thought Sherry, although she had no wish to postpone gratification much longer. The clock was ticking. 

Turning into the bathroom, she said, "Can you fix this shower head, Sam?"

Instead of checking the shower, Sam inspected the entire room. The original 1950's green, marbleized tile still covered the walls. The rusted steel basin sat in a worn, pink Formica countertop. One circular fluorescent fixture lit the dim bathroom. "Sherry, you could sell your house faster if you remodeled this bathroom. New tile and a new vanity wouldn't cost much."

Sherry asked, "How much do you think? Who could I get to do it?"

Imitating a gangster voice, Sam said, "I know a guy, see. He owes me one." He pulled her close, looked over his shoulder, and whispered, "I do youse a favor and youse do me a favor, likewise. Just keep teachin' my kid, so's he can take over da' bidness someday."

She gave him a suspicious smirk, and countered, "I don't know, this sounds a little crooked. I may have to call the IRS. I think you'll have to bribe me. Can you slip me a little something on the side... you know, make it worth my while?"

"I have something to slip you... but it won't be little." He kissed both of her cheeks, and sealed the deal.

Sherry pushed away. "What about this shower?" She reached in and turned it on. "See how it sprays all over."

"Oh, this is a tough one." Sam unscrewed the retainer and extracted the spray aerator. He held it up to the light, then banged it against a towel laying on the vanity. After repeating this several times, the towel showed evidence of a flaky residue that looked like showerhead dandruff. Finally satisfied, he reassembled it.

"It may not be perfect, but it should be better." He turned on the water. A tight, cylindrical rain fell into the tub. 

She clapped her hands and squeaked with delight. "Wonderful, Sam. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a decent shower?"

"So that explains the smell."

She punched his shoulder. "Very funny." Then, in a matter-of-fact tone, she added, "I can't wait to try it." Stepping back, she pulled up her shirt and revealed her body inch by pleasurable inch, continuing until the shirt lay on the floor. 

Sam used the oldest form of wireless communication, and caressed her skin with eyes of longing. Sherry felt her body answer the call. Her thumbs hooked the waistband of her shorts and pushed down. She wiggled saucily as the last garments slid off. Totally nude, she turned toward the mirror and placed both hands on the counter. She stood on tiptoe and leaned over close to the mirror, pretending to check her teeth, intending to show her firm legs and derrière. 




Dead Write Ch. 06



A hushed "Oh my!" signaled Sam had noticed.

Leaving the mirror's reflective world for reality, Sherry moved to Sam, who leaned patiently against the wall. His hands looked lonely, so she placed them on her backside, where they became reacquainted with a new friend. Appearing outwardly calm, this exhibition ignited new fires of arousal within her. Her trembling hands managed to reach his face and pull him down for a wanton kiss. Her body screamed for carnal fulfillment, while her demur mind demanded a bathrobe. Feeling unsteady, she pushed away, checked the shower water temperature, and then stepped inside the curtain.

Revived by the hot spray, Sherry asked, "Sam, would you do my back?"

Fumbling sounds of activity, and an "Oww" as something was stubbed, filtered through the curtain before a naked Sam stepped in behind her. His patience must have run out, because his hands were soaped and on her back before you could say, "Mr. Bubble". 

He said, "Sherry, I hope you want me to do more than just wash your back." Slippery hands reached around and traced over her nipples. "Let me get the front while I'm at it." 

"Mmmm, Sam, you really know the meaning of customer service." 

Cupping her breasts, he gently rolled the sensitive tips to dramatize his ability to meet and satisfy her needs. 

Sherry moaned in approval, momentarily resting against his chest, as darts of pleasure flew to her clitoris. She bent slightly at the hips, and pressed back to feel his hardness against her bottom. She'd led the passion parade long enough and relished turning control over to Sam, ready to enjoy the need her flaunting created. Grinding her bottom against him, she said, "Baby, I'm putting myself in your capable hands, you do whatever's necessary." 

In a low voice, he said, "You're giving me a time and material job? Mmm, with your sweet material I'm sure I can build something beautiful."

Pleasure doubled, as his soapy hands pulled her against his slippery body and fondled her breasts, while hungry lips nuzzled her neck and shoulders. She felt his dominant right hand slide down her belly and stop at the center of her pleasure to tickle her hair. The wonderful contrast between his demanding left hand and teasing right was a marvelous feat of coordination. 

Sherry placed her left foot on the tub edge, opening her sex to his probing fingers. Four curious digits slid between her valley, and slowly traveled north and south. They discovered the small hill at the top of the valley and briefly rested upon it, until the restless index finger began circling the hilltop. 

His lips tickled her ear as he whispered. "You're beautiful, Sherry, so soft, so smooth. I can feel you're wet, not from the shower but from my touch." The left hand moved from nipple to nipple. The right kept up the delicious motion, changing speeds to increase pleasure. 

"Oh Sam", was all she could muster as the peak was coming fast.

Her legs weakened. Together they sank to the tub floor. She sat on his lap, and placed her feet up on the tub sides. His penis was a hard cylinder in the small of her back. She leaned and turned her face up to see Sam's smile.

"Cum for me, Sherry." He bent and kissed her. His middle finger penetrated as his tongue entered her mouth. His finger began to seesaw in and out. His thumb kept pressure on the clitoris. Her hips began to mirror his hand. Faster and faster they rocked, until she teetered on the brink. Grunts and moans were devoured by Sam's lips on hers. She could feel his hard-on sliding along her back. The ridge of her spine stroked him. A squeeze on her wired nipple and clitoris sent Sherry over the edge. Her mouth broke free in a scream of pleasure, as her back arched and legs lifted in orgasmic convulsion. 

Sam's hands and lips continued to caress, as Sherry floated back to earth and noticed it was still raining.



Dead Write Ch. 07



*A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.*

******

Sam enjoyed the landscape of Sherry’s body, as the shower rained on her pink hills and valleys. His fingers slid from her satisfied clitoris to splash in her belly button pond. 

Wrapping his arms just under her breasts, he hugged her, and whispered, “You're beautiful." 

In the quiet afterglow, while holding her in his lap, he thought of Jan, and realized three years had passed since making love had been uncomplicated by illness. This week was a resurrection of physical delights. Sherry's transformation from schoolmarm to mistress compounded the pleasure. Sex felt almost virginal. 

Aloud he said, "Sherry, if there is anything that you want me to do for you, just tell me." 

"Mmm, I've never felt so… satisfied."

Sam heard the hesitancy, and thought she paused because she really wanted to say, "so loved".

"I bet you say that to all your horny old men."

"You're right, Sam, I do." She tipped her head back for a kiss, then turned, straddled his hips, and rubbed the bar of soap until her palms foamed. "Let me wash your pipe cleaner, Mr. Plumber." Blocking the spray with her body, the soapy hands encircled his snake and lathered its expanding length. 

"What an excellent apprentice. You show initiative and mechanical aptitude with the tools,” he said, resting his head against the tub, while she familiarized herself with the equipment. 

Wearing a frown of deep concentration, she pumped the shaft and tickled his balls. Then released her grip to press the rod against his stomach and used both palms to rub up and down the sudsy underside. Next, the sensitive skin at the base of his glans became the target of her thumb and index finger. Gently, she pinched and twisted the circumcised foreskin.

The disconnected look on her face bothered Sam. This didn’t seem like a touch of affection. It didn't feel like a natural exploration of pleasure, but more like going through predetermined motions. Lifting her chin to make eye contact, he asked, "Is everything all right, Sherry?"

A worried face said, "Why? What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

"Wrong? No. You just look so serious. If you're uncomfortable, tell me."

"No, Sam, it's not that. I was just trying to do it the way..." her voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"The way Jan used to?"

She looked away. A blush answered for her. 

Desire began to cool. "Let's dry off and go somewhere more comfortable." 

Smiling, she took his hand and led him from the tub. "I know just the place."

Sam picked up a blow dryer and cleared the mirror, while Sherry pulled towels from the linen closet. After handing him one, she began to dry. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam demanded, yanking her towel away. "That's my job." Throwing the towel over her, he sponged her tousled hair, then wrapped it around and dried her back, while her chest rubbed against him. 

"Oh, this is a much better idea," she said, and used the other towel to dry his back.

He spun Sherry toward the mirror, and dried her shoulders and arms, before studiously toweling off her breasts. "I like mirrors. Can you tell?" 

She smiled at the reflection, and said, "I'm beginning to see their value in a new light," as his cottony hands tended her goose pimpled skin. 

Moving in front, he squatted, dried each leg and then commanded, "Spread them a little, please." 

"You're so polite, for a plumber." 

His fingers fluffed her curly hairs. “Call me, Mr. Good Pipewrench.” 

She leaned over him and put her hands on the counter. A stream of air from his lips helped dry the tangled triangle. Sticking his nose in where it wouldn’t be long enough, he inhaled the fresh scent. 

"Mmmm, you’re such a tease," she said, toying with the gray hair at his temple.

Sam stood up, and handed her the towel. "Okay, now it's your turn." 

Accepting the challenge, Sherry turned him toward the mirror. Too short to see from the back, she stood off to the left and made one long stroke, starting at his shoulder, gliding over his chest, circling the nipple, and ending on his hip. Then, back at the top of the other shoulder, she repeated the motion. 

"Who’s the tease now?” he said, trying to ignore the tremble he felt in her touch. 

"Tit for tat," She said, and knelt to wipe each vertical leg, while ignoring the stumpy middle one.

He laughed. "I love it when you talk dirty. Tell me what a tat is, so I can trade it for your tit." 

Suspending the towel between both hands, Sherry lifted until it supported his cock. She bounced it on the towel trampoline, and then began a seesaw motion to rub the terrycloth against the sensitive underside. "Isn't this a tat?" she asked, with a tremor in her voice. "Mmmm, looks good."

Her nervousness continued to make Sam uneasy. So he helped her up, pulled her tight, and kissed her. Breaking the connection, he said, "You're a funny apprentice. It’ll be great working with you. But I’m beginning to feel like a politician who’s exploiting an intern."

She looked confused, and asked, "Why?" 

"You seem torn. Like part of you wants to do this, and part of you doesn’t." He ran his hands down to hold her waist. “It's a huge turn-on. I like replacing your fear with pleasure." He kissed her nose, and then spoke the words he knew might end this delicious moment. "But, is it fair? Am I taking advantage of you?"

She cupped his face in her hands, and said, "I told you, I'm a big girl, and I know what I want. I'm just going to repeat myself until you believe. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want y..."

Sam clamped a hand over her mouth. "All right, I believe you.” Then slipped the hand to her cheek, and asked, “Then why are you trembling?"

The laughing eyes darkened and looked down. She laid her head on his shoulder and traced a fingernail around his nipple. "I'm a little nervous." Absently, the pad of her index finger began a lazy assault on the sensitive tip. "I'm afraid I won't please you. It's been a long time and... I never was very good."

He pushed her chin so that her blues met his browns. "Sounds to me like you've been brainwashed into believing some false propaganda." Looking at her finger on his chest, he said, "Just the way you play sends lightening through me. So don't tell me you're not a good lover."

Bending quickly, Sam put his shoulder against her hips, and then lifted her over his shoulder. 

She laughed, and said, "Sam, what are you doing? Put me down."

"No! I’m declaring an intervention." He carried her into the hall. "I'm going to deprogram all that bad-lover foolishness right out of your head." He swatted her bottom with his free hand. "So behave, and it will go easier for you!"

She stopped laughing long enough to drone in a monotone voice, "Yes Master,” then reached down and pinched his ass.

"Oww!" Sam swatted her again, and then soothingly rubbed the spot. 

She whimpered, and said, “But it feels good to be bad.”

The bedroom door was already open. Sam strode in and dumped her on the mattress. Placing his hands on his naked hips, he surveyed the room. 

Sherry lay there, looking him over. 

He maintained a confident exterior, despite apprehension about how his pale physique appeared in broad daylight.

The room was neat and feminine, decorated in floral prints of mauves and greens. A small table next to an overstuffed chair sat by the window; books waited on the floor. There was an antique dresser, appointed with a jewelry box, and a vase filled with fresh cut roses. An air conditioner hummed its cooling breath. The decor, like the woman, had an elegant, uncomplicated beauty. 

Aloud, he said. "This room’s perfect for deprogramming."

The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked out. A sunbeam fell across Sherry like a spotlight from heaven. "How long will this take? I have a Bad Lovers cult meeting at the Holiday Inn at three," she said, sitting up to give him the come-and-get-me finger curl.

He slid down beside her. "I predict this will be a long drawn out object lesson." Pushing her flat, he straddled her hips and pinned her wrists above her head. "And here is one of my favorite objects." Without further pretense, his lips gently closed around her left nipple. He wet it like a thread being prepared for the eye of a needle, and then blew on it to make it pointy. 

"Mmmm." She arched, and shivered. “Please help me.”

“Begging won’t do any good. Deprogramming the Bad Lover complex always involves torture,” said Sam, as he transferred his lips to the right nipple to repeat the wet and blow procedure. “A sweet torture, sustained over long periods, to ingrain the pattern of positive coital stimulus.” 

Sherry stretched under him, pushed against his weight. 

“You must do exactly as I say.”

She began to struggle, and said, “I’ll try.”

“You will!” demanded Sam, gripping both her wrists in one hand and tickling her armpit with the other.

Sherry bucked and twisted under him, yelling, “Stop! Get off.” 

Her thrashing became near hysterical, and Sam immediately rolled off. 

Breathing heavy, she turned away.

Sam gently stroked her hair, and said, “Sherry, I’m so sorry. I won’t ever pin you down again.”

She was shaking.

He kissed her shoulder.

Rolling onto her back, she looked up at him with swimming eyes. “I’m such a mess. Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes, I’m very sure.”

She smiled, and whispered, “Don’t torture me anymore, okay?”

With new insight into how bad her life had been, his heart ached. “Okay,” he said, and protectively snuggled against her. 

Clouds drifted over the sun. They lay silent for a few minutes. 

Sherry placed a hand on his bottom, and petted.

Taking it as a sign of renewed interest, Sam languidly traced a finger up her stomach, between her breasts, and around her nipple. “Is teasing allowed?”

Her eyes closed and squeezed out two smiling tears. She said, “Teasing is required.” 

His finger continued to trace a patient line up, until it brushed over her lips, feather soft. “How’s that feel?”

“Nice. It tickles,” she said, and rubbed them together.

“That’s all it takes to be a good lover.” The tip of his tongue drew a shiny circle around her areola, and he said, “You just tickle, and tease, until your partner begs you to scratch the itch. It’s a sweet torture with a satisfying payoff. Sex is about mutual pleasure. Whatever turns you on, will turn me on." Smiling, he added, "Unless you want to push a cucumber up my ass. That would not turn me on."

Laughing, she said, "You read my mind. How about a zucchini?" 

"Uh-uh."

"Then, what about this?" She straddled him, wedged his penis between her labia, and rubbed along the shaft. 

"That's... amazing," said Sam, enjoying the view almost as much as the friction. "But, much more of this will end my fun too soon." 

Her hips stopped. "I don't want that." 

Sam reached down and cupped her bottom. "Let me scratch your itch another way," he said, pulling, until her knees rested under his arms, and her pink sex spread open. He slid under. Their eyes met, as his tongue slipped in. Her eyes closed on contact.

The tang of her juice exploded on his taste buds, as he licked and flicked everything except her panic button. He gripped her hips to prevent being smothered in passion. 

She whispered, “Sam, I’ve dreamed of this. But I never dreamed it would feel so good.” One delicate hand traced down to spread the petals for him. 

He tongued her fingers.

As the telltale blush spread, Sherry’s free hand began to tease a breast. 

"That looks so sexy." He massaged her bottom and licked a wide swathe up the slick valley.

"Mmmm," escaped in a long exhale. Her eyes remained closed, as her fingers began to awaken the nipples. Any trepidation evaporated with the rising heat.

Sam felt a slight rocking of her hips against his mouth. "You’re like honey to a starving bear." Two fingers slipped easily inside her, his lips grazed her clitoris.

"Oh, God!" Breasts now clenched in her fists, Sherry enjoyed her own roughness.

Sam pulled down a hand and used her fingers to rub the swollen clit. Releasing his grip, she continued, while he plunged two fingers into her. 

"You're beautiful." 

"Uhn, uhn." Her climax neared. She began to lose control.

"Who's a great lover, Sherry?"

"You are, Sam," escaped between gasps.

"Sorry, wrong answer." He grabbed her wrists.

"No! I'm so close. Don't stop now." She struggled to free her hands, but as the feeling faded she slumped over him. 

Sam pushed her knees back until she lay flat on his chest, and waited for her heart rate to return to normal. "I'm sorry, Sherry. No reward until you accept the truth,” he said, and trailed his fingertips from her shoulders down her spine, circled each globe of her tush, and then repeated.

"Maybe I can't handle the truth," said Sherry, with closed eyes and a smile.

"Then, how about another hard truth for you to handle?" Sam placed her hand on his cock, wrapped her fingers around it, and lazily stroked. "Sherry, you're wonderful. No one is more exciting than you -- physically or mentally. I'm the luckiest man on earth." 

"I bet you say that to all your lovers."

He smiled, and said, "Yes, I do,” and rolled them both, reversing positions. "One more time. Who's a great lover?"

"Um, Mel Gibson." She giggled.

"What!" Sam tickled and she wriggled.

"Stop it!" She laughed, and pushed his hands away.

"Who's a great lover?"

"I am! I give up! I give up!" 

He wanted to tickle her more. The laughter wonderful ear candy, the sensation of her writhing body inflamed him. Instead, the tickling changed to caresses. Gentle fingers traced her ribs to her breasts. His mouth captured her lips, as his hands captured the high ground. Passion was now in control. 

Sherry's hands ran down his back, over his ass, then slid under his hips. He lifted to ease her search. She positioned his cock at the warm entrance. 

As he began to push between her folds, her hand stopped him, and she asked, "Who's a great lover?"

With his lips against the side of her throat, he murmured, "You are, Sherry." 

"Sorry, wrong answer." And she moved his penis away from ground zero.

Sam groaned.

"No whining, you made the rules." She pushed him onto his back. "What goes around, comes around."

"I hate it when tit for tat bites you in the ass."

She smiled. "Okay, I'll cross ass biting off my to-do list." Leaning over him, she slowly pumped his cock. "So, the question remains: Who's a great lover?"

Sam winked, "Mel Gibson?"

Sherry laughed, and asked, "Are you bisexual? Do you fantasize about Mel?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to give you the answer you're looking for," he said, palming a breast, playfully bouncing the soft weight, while his thumb brushed over the nipple.

Grabbing his wrists, she pinned them over his head and then dangled a nipple over his lips. His tongue flicked out, but she stayed out of range. "Uh-uh, Sam, not until you give the right answer." 

In a sullen, defeated tone, he softly answered, "All right, I'm a great lover."

"Good boy," she cooed, and lowered the nipple, then swayed side-to-side to brush the swollen bud across his lips. "Come on. Open up. Don't be difficult. Take your reward."

Like a fish taking the bait, he engulfed it. 

The sensation made her back arch and her pelvis press against his stomach. 

Sam easily lifted her weight, and, once again, they rolled over. No resistance now, as he lay between her legs. Her hand placed him in position. Resting on his elbows, he watched the sultry look in her eyes as he slipped in. 

Sherry pulled his mouth to hers, and they wrapped each other tight. No more talk, only physical response to physical action. His hand slid between them. While he teased her clit, she reached down and let his shaft glide between her fingers. Sam slowly pulled out and pushed back. 

She began a more urgent pump, as Sam pinched one nipple and sucked the other. "Sam, I'm close. Are you?"

He loved this moment at the edge of the orgasmic abyss. Her confession almost pulled him over with her. "Sherry, let it go. I want to watch you."

As if waiting for permission, her body tightened, and her pelvis ground against him. 

He clung to her with his mouth and fingers, increasing the height of her fall. Guttural sounds marked the loss of all control. Her body arched and stiffened under and around him, and then a final screaming plunge into ecstasy.

He softened his touch, until Sherry pushed his hand away, and said breathlessly, "Enough".

Leaning on straight arms, Sam began a more assertive rhythm. At different angles, he pumped in and out, trying to make contact with her clitoris. 

Their eyes met, and they exchanged smiles. She cupped his ass, and pulled on the in-stroke. "Oh, Baby. Your so big, so hard." Her eyes closed. "I think I'm going to cum again."

Sam answered with increased speed. 

Her hands slid up his chest to play with his nipples, and rubbed down his abdomen to feel his penetrations. Her hips began to push back with the same need for completion. 

The point of no return came suddenly, and exploded with the blinding pleasure he remembered. Pressing hard, wave after delicious wave pulsed into her. A sweet fulfillment swallowed him whole. Tears he couldn't control rolled down his cheeks. Embarrassed, he kissed her feverishly. 

Sherry continued to pump, until an answering arch signaled another climax.



Dead Write Ch. 08



This is a repost of an old romance story with a new edit.

Chapter 8

Sherry’s orgasm bounced like a skipping stone, one diminishing peak after another, and then the final splash. Her overloaded senses didn’t identify the moisture on her face, until a drop fell on her lips. Reawakened taste buds recognized the saltiness of a tear. 

Sam hid his face in the pillow, and said, "Thank you."

Unsure of what happened, she hugged him, and crossed her legs over his back to hold him as close as humanly possible. Running her fingers through his damp hair, she felt a surge of panic. A man had never cried in her arms before, for any reason. Now Sam, the man she loved, was reduced to tears after sex. “Are you all right, Honey?”

A husky voice, muffled in the pillow, said, “I can’t remember the last time I felt so right.”

The remark swept away her fear with warm tenderness, this poignant moment dearer than the physical pleasure. Her love had released a flood of emotion from his soul. Hope of a lifetime swelled within her. She whispered endearments, allowing him time to regain composure, and then sang in a small voice, "You make me feel like a natural woman."

Sam rose up on his elbows. “I’m such a mess. Are you sure you want me?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The separation of their torsos let the air conditioner blow a cool breeze across their sweaty chests. 

Smiling down, enraptured by the vision, Sam said, "You're an angel sent to show me life is worth living, aren't you." 

"Yes." She squeezed her thighs around him, and said, "Call me Clarence, if you like." 

His lips pressed her throat, creating a pleasant tingle as he nuzzled in. Sherry lifted her chin and turned her head to encourage him.

Between kisses, Sam said, "What was that line from the movie? Was it: 'When a woman has an orgasm an angel gets his wings'?"

"That's right." Sherry rubbed his back. "And you gave out some supersonic wings today, Baby," then pulled his lips to hers for heavenly punctuation. 

Sweet minutes passed as they lay entwined, and satisfied.

Sherry pressed her cheek against his, and said, “Sam, you know what I’ve learned from you?”

“You learned I don’t want a cucumber up my ass.”

She laughed, and said, “Okay, that’s true, but not what I was thinking.”

From behind her ear, he asked, “What else did you learn?”

Massaging his scalp, she replied, “I’m not frigid, like Bob said. I love sex with you. And not once did I even think about faking an orgasm. I didn’t have to.”

Sam lifted his head to look at her. With a broad smile and liquid eyes, he said, “Sherry, that’s got to be one of the best compliments I’ve ever heard,” and hugged her tight. 

A tickle inside told Sherry his penis had shrunk, and the confluence of their climax began to leak out. "I need to use the bathroom."

Sam reached over to the nightstand, retrieved a hand full of tissues, and withdrew.

She groaned at the quick separation.

After laying some tissues on her stomach, he wiped himself dry, and said, "I hope we didn’t stain your quilt."

"Maybe I want it stained. Then I’d have DNA evidence that you were actually here," she said, mopping up the wet spot.

"If you want, I’ll give you another sample ASAP," he said, grinning from the bedside. 

Sherry got up and swayed her hips all the way to the closet. "We'll see.” 

Years ago, to pamper herself, she'd purchased a silk kimono. Until now, no one had ever seen her wear it. Slipping on the extravagant jade-green fabric, she twirled for Sam. The short hem lifted to expose her legs all the way up. “You like?”

His face glowed with approval. "My kind of gift wrap. You are totally phat." 

She stepped into the hallway, shot him a torrid smile, and said, "Don't go anywhere, Dude," then closed the bedroom door.

Sam glanced at the alarm clock. There was still an hour before he'd have to leave and pick up Chris. 'I wonder if there's a second round left in this old gun.’

The clouds broke apart and the sun reappeared. Feeling restless, he stood, looked out the back window, and marveled at all the flowers. A nearly continuous garden encircled the fencedn. Red, pink and white roses, as big as your fist, climbed the chain link fence at the very back, evidence that her tender care included plants as well as people. 

A subtle inconsistency between the yard and the house bothered him. The negligence of the structure seemed incongruous with her doting attention to her gardens. He wondered if bad memories associated with the house were responsible for some of its disrepair. 

Another oddity became apparent as he scanned the backyard. Behind the chain link fence stood a stockade fence. Above the eight-foot wall rose a baseball diamond backstop. Obviously, there was a playground adjacent to her property. 'What a perfect place to raise a family; just walk through the backyard gate, and into the park. Was the second fence added for security, or to hide from the reminder of being childless?' 

Like a Divine answer, a foul ball landed inside the yard. Moments later, a loud ring could be heard above the drone from the AC unit. The brassy clang came from a bell attached to the top of the fence. A pull rope hung down on the playground side. After a short time, the stockade gate swung out, and two boys about twelve years old peeked in. When they were confident no one was there, they opened the old chain link gate and retrieved their ball, then waved at the house as they left.

"I guess it's not for security.”

"What's not for security?" Sherry had quietly entered the room, while he was lost in thought. 

"Your two fences. Some kids just came in to get a baseball. Nice of you to put the gate in for them." 

Ignoring the statement, she said, "Sam, you must need to use the bathroom." She carried an antique pitcher and bowl. A towel and washcloth hung over her arm. After placing the collection on the dresser, she said, "Hurry back. I have a surprise for you."

"Hmm, a surprise, huh." He pecked her cheek, and she patted his butt on the way by. "You continue to amaze me, Love."

'Love!' she thought, 'he called me Love!' Sherry walked to the window and hugged herself. Sam had noticed the fences, and seemed to have an intuition about them that made her feel naked beyond the flesh. He saw things and analyzed for motive. Or maybe she just imagined he understood her heart. 

Sherry hadn’t thought about the fence in a long time. After Bob left to be with the mother of his child, the playground was too much to bear. The day the fence went up she'd stayed in bed, depressed. No more would she have to look out onto the field of children, heart broken. Then the baseballs began to collect in the yard, and she softened. The gate and bell were installed. Instructions to ring the bell before entering were posted on the playground side, so the kids wouldn’t startle her when they came in. 

'Had Sam guessed any of this?' she wondered, and then decided the kids coming in the yard just made him think about the fence.

Sherry poured warm water into the bowl and dropped in the washcloth. Jan's notebook had been a blessing. It opened a door. But now it was time for her to make her own way through. If she was to win Sam’s heart it would have to be for the love of her, and not someone created in Jan's image. 

Sam walked in. Apparently he’d been uncomfortable naked, because his briefs were back on.

Sherry glimpsed her pink reflection in the dresser mirror, hot with the idea of what she was about to do. Leaning back with her palms on the dresser top, she said, "Are you ready for your surprise?" and shifted her weight so the robe opened to reveal one long leg.

He stood against the bedroom door, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he made an exaggerated gulping sound. "Will I live?"

Slinking over to take his hand, she said, "I think so." Then led him back to the dresser. In front of the mirror she kissed his neck, while running her hands down into his underwear. "I want to do something for you I've never wanted to do for any other man." This meant a great deal to her, and hoped it would show how much he meant to her as well.

Sam pulled open the sash cord of her robe to reveal a central stripe of her body. "Is it bigger than a bread box?"

"No," she said, and squatted, face level with his groin. She pulled down his tighty-whities, waited while he stepped out, and then threw them on the chair.

Sherry stood, and his hands snaked in around her waist, spreading the silk so that skin pressed skin. "Is it something you'll enjoy too?”

The look of concern warmed her heart. "I will with you... because I want you." Her arms wrapped around him. "I want to know how it feels when you come in my mouth. I want to taste you, feel your cock throbbing between my lips as I suck you dry." She kissed his chest to hide her face, knowing it was on fire from the wanton confession, and surprised by how she meant every word and enjoyed saying it out loud.

He asked, "Why now? Why me?"

"You've given me so much." She shrugged the silk off her shoulders. "I want to give something special in return. It's special to me, anyway." 

Pulling her tight, Sam kissed her passionately. His hands roamed. He seemed unable to find words, so instead, he answered with caresses that made her lightheaded. A penile twitch against her stomach gave an empirical response.

Finding reserve strength, Sherry pushed away. "I'll never make it if you keep that up."

"Sorry." But he gave her the not-really smile.

"First, I want to clean you up," Sherry said, and dropped the kimono to the floor, then picked up the washcloth from the basin. Kneeling in front of him, she had an odd feeling of subservience, which in the past always made her uncomfortable. But this was different. It was an honor to serve this man, to show a willingness to attend his needs as he would attend hers. 

Cupping his scrotum in one hand, she massaged the soapy cloth into his pubic hair, wiping away the clotted residue of their coupling. The odor was an erotic mix of sexes, uniquely heady. Her body responded with fresh desire. She wrapped the cloth around his flaccid shaft, and wondered what he would taste like after fucking. Heat rose in her face. When she glanced up, Sam’s eyes were closed, and a smile curved his lips. 

Emboldened, she tickled his balls with her nails and moved closer to get a good look at her sudsy man-toy. The head was smooth and pink, the slit opened and closed as she stroked him clean. It was approximately half size, and felt heavier than expected. Letting it rest flat in her palm, she traced the large vein along the top. Then she folded it up against his stomach and dabbed cloth-covered fingers along the underside, while admiring its vascular contours. 

He watched her now. She felt the blush return, and hated the schoolgirl reaction. To save face, she said, "You look yummy, Sam”.

"So do you.”

Blood boiled in her capillaries, as she placed the bowl of water on the floor. “Kneel over this, please.” With cupped hands, Sherry scooped clean water, and let it trickle over his lathered cock. Then, after rinsing the washcloth, she completed the job with tender attention to detail. 

After drying him, she said, “Sit on the edge of the bed.” She picked up her tools.

"Did you ever think about being a head nurse?" 

"Very funny." And then suddenly anxious, she asked, "Was I too clinical?"

"Are you kidding? I had to think about paying the bills to keep from going of half-cocked."

Sherry didn't believe him, and thought he was only being kind. Determined to erase her novice reputation with real-time experience, she took control. Kneeling down between his legs, she ran her hands up his thighs. "I've sucked cock before. But I've never been the one in charge." That wasn't right. Somehow it came out sounding weak instead of brazen, like she intended. "I mean, Bob always demanded I do it. I never wanted him in my mouth the way I want you." That was more like it, although she hated saying Bob's name while making love to Sam. The wheels were coming off her fantasy train, and she was on the verge of an emotional derailment. 

Sam's penis had shrunk, but his face was all smiles and laughter. "Sherry, you're so sexy when you’re nervous." Rubbing her leg with his foot, he added, "I know what you’re trying to say, and I'm flattered you want to do this. But, if you want to bail out, I won't be disappointed."

"You're such a gentleman even when you lie, Sam. That's one of the things I love about you." Focus. That's what she needed. 'Focus on my love for Sam. Give him all he deserves. Show him how much I love him, show his whole body.' She began with a kiss, and worked down his chest. The hair around his nipple tickled her nose. He tasted salty and he smelled a little like his cock had, sex soaked. 

Sam stretched back on his hands, offering his abdomen to her lips and tongue. His rapt expression created a desire to thrill him more. Tracing across his rippled stomach, she made a shiny trail to his pubic hair. His penis was still small. She worried her teasing didn’t excite him.

Concern must have shown on her face. "At my age, it takes longer to get my motor running, especially so soon after the first orgasm. So don't think I'm not enjoying this,” he said, then placed a palm on her cheek, and stroked it with his thumb.

Grinning in relief, she asked, "Do you always know what I'm thinking?" Before he answered, she sucked his entire cock into her mouth.

His muscles clenched, and his eyes closed with the sensation. "I wasn't expecting that."

This is what she wanted to experience, her nose buried in his pubic hair, while her tongue, lips and jaw moved in unison around his penis. Amazed at how fast he grew, she engulfed all of him as long as possible. A groan from above confirmed the message his hard-on was sending her mouth. Sam liked it. And he kept growing, until finally it was too large to accommodate. She let him slip out, and blew a cool breeze over the sensitive glans.

Energized by her success, she said, "That was great, Sam! I wanted to know how it would feel getting hard in my mouth. I loved it. Did you like it?"

A grin played on his lips. He sat upright and massaged her shoulders. "Sherry, for someone without experience you scare me. It felt fantastic. You worked me up faster than you can say 'Stop or I'll shoot!'"

Playfully slapping his penis against the side of her face, she smiled and said, "Well, you know how to inspire me, Babe." As proof she sucked on the tip, and played her tongue over, under, and around it.

Sam flopped back. 

Sherry was forced to move onto the bed to keep the proper angle of entry between her agile lips. Fully involved in giving pleasure, she automatically straddled his chest so she could drag her hands up the inside of his legs, tickle his scrotum and pump in cock in different combinations. 

What surprised her was how her body responded. Every moan and twitch sent tremors through her. She discovered pressing her mons against his ribs sent the pleasant vibrations directly into her clit. She humped against him for added stimulation, and broke free long enough to tell Sam her revelation. "I'm so turned on. I'm so wet," was all she could manage before sucking him again, experimenting to exact the greatest response from her lover.

She heard, "let me see," and then felt her thighs pushed apart, and a finger pet her swollen clitoris. Her groan escaped around his cock. 'He knows what I need,' flashed in her mind, as she redoubled her effort to give back.

It was hard to concentrate. Sam had decided two hands were better than one, and now had multiple fingers working in and out of her, with squishy noises. There was a momentary withdrawal, and then she felt his tongue plying her pussy. She hadn't washed, and he didn't seem to care. 

'What do we taste like?' She filed it away under ‘next time’. 

Sam's fervor increased. His hips started to pump. 

Cool air replaced his warm mouth, as he fell away from her sex, and said, "Sherry, I'm going to come." 

"Mmm, Do it, Babe," she said, and sealed her lips around the tip. She sucked harder to make it happen. Her tongue laved the sensitive underside. She let him thrust to a comfortable depth. The hand on his scrotum felt the testicles draw in. The other hand squeezed his shaft, in anticipation of the coming bursts. Senses on full alert, Sherry wanted to feel everything. 

Sam clutched the quilt, and groaned. His hips tensed in an upward arc. Sherry loosened her lips in preparation. The first explosion ricocheted off her tongue and down her chin. Her fingers stroked the shaft, and felt the spasm of each subsequent squirt. Her mouth pistoned up and down. Confident in her ability to handle the volume, she sucked in and swallowed what was left. When the climax passed she wiped her chin with a finger and licked it clean. 

Feeling proud, Sherry spun around on top of Sam, and looked down on his grinning face. "How was that? Am I a great cocksucker, or what?"

"You're the best," he growled, and rolled them both over. "Now I'm going to finish what I started." Sam was still hard enough to enter her. His fingers toyed the preheated clitoris back to peak pleasure. His hungry lips grasped a ready nipple.

"Oh, that's good," she groaned. "I'm so up there, Babe." Her palms rubbed his back in urgent circles. She felt a renewed stiffness in his cock, and joy blossomed from the effect she had on him. His desire, his thrusts, his taste still in her mouth, pushed Sherry over the edge. She came hard, and as her hips thrust up to meet his, he pulled out. The emptiness so sudden, the climax hovered without direction, until he slid down and covered her sex with his mouth, and coaxed out louder screams. His fingers replaced his spent cock, and pumped tenaciously, while her body quivered in minor aftershocks.

"Stop, Sam."

He covered her again with his body. Eager hands and lips fondled and kissed. Their taste was everywhere, mingled into oneness with a passionate disregard for restraint. 

'This is it,' she thought. 'It can't be any better.' Arms wrapped around his back, legs over his ass, she clung to the man of her dreams.



Dead Write Ch. 09



* A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *

Sam's truck turned the corner and disappeared. 

Hidden behind the curtain, wrapped in the silk kimono, Sherry stared at the distant stop sign. Selfishly, she’d asked Sam to bring Chris back for a late dinner. But he had other obligations, and she understood -- mostly. To the outside world they were just friends. Maybe that's how it would always be. But the chance to have a family of her own felt so close; the thought of failure knotted her stomach.

With a heavy sigh, she wandered back toward the bedroom, dragging her fingers along the wall. The damp towels still lay on the bathroom floor, and it made her smile. Rubbing her tummy through the slick fabric, she remembered the hardness of his shoulder pressed there as he carried her to the bedroom. Today would be one of the best memories ever. 

The doorbell rang. 

"Sam!" she chirped. He must've forgotten something.

Sherry ran to the door and opened it just a smidgen. Before she saw anyone, the door slammed inward, struck her head and hurled her back onto the hardwood floor. A loud buzz and white flashes fogged her brain. She fought to stay conscious. The bang of a closed door and the squeak of footsteps filtered through the cotton haze. Dirty sneakers stopped in front of her face. 

After a long, wolf whistle, a familiar voice said, "Sharon, have you been working out? You’re looking very sexy!" Her ex-husband Bob squatted down for a closer look. His eyes slithered over her. 

A nauseous waved rolled up, as she struggled to regain motor control.

"I stopped by to talk about Monday's court hearing, but I didn't expect such a warm welcome." He ran a finger along her hip, and threw open the loose robe. "Are you okay? Let me check your pulse”, he said, and squeezed her right breast. “Have you and Sammy been bumpin’ uglies? I wouldn’t mind sloppy seconds. How ‘bout it? For old-time’s sake?"

The hated touch created an adrenaline rush. With concentrated effort, she said, "Don’t touch me," pushed his hand away and closed the robe. Her head throbbed, but she could sit up.

"You’re still the ice queen, I see. But Sammy probably likes you that way -- still and chilled." Bob stood and leaned against the door. "So, how is old Sam-the-sham? Does he ever get naked? Can the old fart even get it up? I wonder what your Preacher would say about this illicit sex between a Sunday school teacher and a recently widowed father. I don't think the congregation would elect Sam an Elder if they found out, do you?"

"Get out, Bob. Leave us alone."

"I will, Sweetheart, as long as I don't see your face in court on Monday. Otherwise, consider your future thoroughly fucked. And I mean that in a bad way." Bob knelt on one knee and grabbed her chin. "Maybe I should call Sam, and tell him how sorry I am about Jan. It’s too bad she’s dead. She was a great lay. I would’ve liked a lot more of that hot twat."

Sherry jerked her chin free, and felt dizzy from the sudden motion. "You're a liar!"

He had an evil, confident laugh. "I’m sure I can convince Sam that I banged her. Jan was a wild woman under that self-righteous veneer. She liked it rough, and knew a good fuck when she got it." Standing up, he sneered, "Unlike you!" 

In a calm voice, he added, "I really should tell Sam about our little fling. Tell him how I gave Jan the feral fuck she needed, and couldn’t get from him. Then he'll have another fond memory of the dearly departed. Maybe he'd like to swap stories about you."

Shock engulfed Sherry, and she felt sickened by the possible truth. "Get out now, and I won't call the police!" 

"I'll go. Just remember what I said. And decide if showing up on Monday is worth ruining your life, and Sam's."

***

"Dad, Where're we goin'?" asked Chris, when he noticed they took a different route home from church.

"I want to stop at Ms. Walker's house, and make sure she's okay."

"Mega-cool!" he said, while coloring a picture of David and Goliath. "We had Mr. Backus for Sunday school, and he was Mega-boring."

Sam smiled at his son's Mega-comment. They shared a mutual affection for Ms. Walker, Chris had an innocent crush, and Sam had a Mega-passion. 

The happy thoughts faded into concern, as he wondered why Sherry hadn't attended church. Yesterday, they made love with seamless perfection, and he'd looked forward to sitting beside her in church to fuel the gossipmongers for weeks. 

As Sam turned into her driveway, he said, "Chris, you wait here. I won’t be long.”

"Aww, why?"

"If she's sick I don't want you catching it," which was true, but what he really wanted was the freedom to speak candidly.

After three doorbell rings and four minutes of escalating anxiety, Sam was ready to kick the door down. Her car was in the garage, so she must be home. Finally, the living room curtain fluttered. Someone peeked out. 

Sherry’s voice was barely audible through the oak door. "What do you want?"

"I’m worried about you," said Sam, not pleased with how this conversation started. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, don't worry. We'll talk soon."

"I want to talk now!” he yelled, annoyed by the brush off. "Open the door so I don't have to shout. The neighbors are wondering what's going on." The man next-door did wave hello. He might get nosy.

"Where's Chris?"

Sam's concern increased exponentially. She obviously had something on her mind not fit for little ears. "He's in the car. I told him to wait there." 

The deadbolt clicked and the door opened a foot. 

Hiding behind it, she said, "I told you I'm fine. Now go away."

"Go away? Yesterday we had to pry our bodies apart with a spatula, and now you won't even let me see you. You're teasing me, right?" Sam tried to push the door open but she pushed back, shouting, "No, stay out! I don't want you in here."

"Now I’m really scared." Taking his hand off the door, he said, "At least stand where I can see you." Sam glanced at the car. Chris’s head was still down, engrossed in his artistic endeavor. When he turned back, Sherry had positioned herself so only her profile was visible.

"See, I'm fine," she said, with eyes focused somewhere on an inside wall.

"Bullshit," he snapped, frustrated by her evasiveness. "Do you think I'm stupid? Look at me!”

With an angry huff, she complied, giving him a good look at the swollen and bruised left side of her face. "There, are you satisfied? Now go home,” she said, and walked away, leaving the door ajar like an invitation.

Sam followed and wrapped her in his arms. "What happened?" he asked, halting her retreat to inspect the damage. "I hope you went to the emergency room."

Twisting to get loose, she said, "Why? I didn't die in my sleep and I don't see two of you, so I must not have a blood clot or a concussion." She stopped fighting, and allowed him to move around front.

In a syrupy voice intended to irritate, he said, "What happened to that sweet woman that said she loved me? Did aliens leave a pod in your backyard last night?"

Sherry looked away. "No, I slipped cleaning up in the bathroom."

"I should have stayed and helped. I'm sorry."

Briefly she met his gaze with a pained expression, and said, "This isn't your fault. I was just careless.” Sam tried to kiss her forehead but she pulled away. "I don't think we should see each other anymore." 

The words didn’t register. "Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said I don't want to see you. That means not tomorrow." She met his confused look with an icy glare, and stated flatly, "Maybe you are stupid."

Stunned, he stared at her in disbelief. 

As she vanished down the hall, Sherry yelled, "Now get out!"

His chest felt as if it were clamped in a vise. ***

Sam checked his reflection in the truck’s rearview mirror. "You look like shit.” 

He dropped Chris off at Grandma’s and then parked in Sherry’s driveway, prepared to wait her out. Unpacking a large coffee and an egg McMuffin, he prayed for guidance. The clock on the dashboard glowed 8:17 a.m.

After one bite of rubbery bacon and egg, the front door opened. Sherry stood with her arms folded and glared at the truck blocking the driveway. He smiled and waved. Uncrossing her arms, she gave him the beckoning finger curl. It was not an inviting signal. He felt far from optimistic.

When he'd crossed the threshold into no man's land, Sherry slammed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Having breakfast." Holding out the nearly intact sandwich, he asked, "Wanna bite?"

"I told you I don't want to see you."

"Then why did you invite me in?" 

Examining her bruise, he asked, "How's your head feel? You look better.” After waiting long enough to realize she wouldn’t be chatty, he explained, "I already asked for the day off. So I have to do something. Whatever happened to you on Saturday has scrambled your brain. You need me in court with you, more than ever. So, as Chris would say, 'like it or lump it.' You're stuck with me.” He sat down to finish his meal, and stared out into the backyard. 

She stood behind him, and pulled at his heart like gravity. "My brain’s scrambled, huh? I’ve never heard of that diagnosis."

"Well, I'm not board certified, but I think it’s valid."

Dragging a chair next to his, she sat down and rested the good side of her face against his shoulder. "I'm hungry."

He placed the sandwich against her lips, and said, "Eat." She took a bite, and chewed slowly. It was a small but sweet victory, like coaxing a wild bird to eat from your hand. 

Sherry said, "I have to warn you, things could get ugly in court."

"As long as you're there, I’ll have something beautiful to look at."

Ignoring the compliment, Sherry added, "Bob's angry about me testifying."

"He was here, wasn't he?" The truth materialized in a rush. "He hit you!"

"No. He pushed the door open, and it hit me by accident."

He studied her face and she reddened. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Listen to me, Sam. I don't want my problems to be your problems. Please, don't come to court. Things will only get worse if you're there." Touching his face, she added, "I'll hate myself if Bob hurts you to get to me."

"What can he do? I hardly know him." 

Her eyes were troubled. She stayed silent.

Sam put it bluntly. "I'm there, no matter what." 

After folding her hands on the table, she said, "I need to tell you something else. I'm going away, to visit my sister. I'll be back in about a month, just before school starts."

Sam's blood drained to his feet. "A month?"

"It'll give Bob time to cool off. If I'm not around, maybe he won't cause trouble."

"What about... us?" 

"Maybe it would be good for us to cool off a little, too." Sherry smiled unconvincingly.

He struggled for breath. The thought of losing her felt like a body blow. Then he remembered his promise not to pressure her. "Maybe you're right." They sat quietly, until an idea blossomed. "Will you leave me a house key? I'll rip out the old bathroom while your gone."

"Okay," she said, with relief in her voice. "Maybe Chris would water my flowers?"

"I think he'd like that. We can e-mail progress reports, if you want."

The ride to court was hearse quiet. It felt like everything romantic died and was about to be buried in the dirt of reality.

Court was behind schedule. All parties were forced to mill around the cavernous hallway and act civil. Sherry had never met Bob's second wife. The anxious face on the woman getting up from a bench labeled her as the plaintiff. She approached Sherry humbly, introduced herself as Beverly, and began to pour out remorse for having an affair with Bob seven years ago. And how grateful she was that Sherry would testify on her behalf. "I hope the Judge orders the DNA test," Beverly said, as her eyes began to tear up. "They just have to take away his parental rights. I don't want him near my daughter, ever again."

"Excuse me? You don't think Bob is the father?"

"I know he's not. I was pregnant before I slept with him. The bio-dad was a college kid I was... dating. When I found out I was pregnant I panicked. Bob had been hitting on me for months, so I slept with him, then told him he was the father. I thought I’d be better off. Instead, he gave us nothing but misery." Beverly's tear streaked face reflected her sorrow. "It was the stupidest thing I've ever done. But I'm through paying the price." She leaned in close, and added, "I'm so glad we never had anymore kids. Frankly, I think Bob shoots blanks."

Beverly went back to her seat. Sherry and Sam stared at one another, neither willing to speak their immediate thoughts.

Bob witnessed the exchange and wandered over. "Sharon, I'm sorry to see you here." He reached out to touch her arm, but she recoiled. "There's no reason to dredge up the past and open old wounds. This could all be settled amicably through mediation." Then he smiled at Sam, and said, "My condolences on the loss of your wife. She was a good friend to Sharon, and a wonderful person. I wish I'd known her better."

Sherry squeezed Sam's hand and trembled. He said, “Thanks, Bob.”

Bob looked at Sherry and nodded his good-bye with a sly smile. 

Sam muttered, "What an asshole." He rubbed Sherry’s back. "Relax, he won't hurt you anymore."

Grim faced, she said, "I pray not."

The doors opened. All concerned entered and dispersed throughout the mahogany courtroom. Several police officers testified about domestic disputes at Bob and Beverly's home, along with doctors and a few neighbors.

Finally, Sherry was called as a witness. 

The Judge noticed the purple bruise, and asked, “Are you all right, Ms. Walker?” 

Despite her declaration under oath that it was caused by a door, he looked at Sam suspiciously. The questions the Judge asked were directed more toward Sherry and Bob’s inability to have children than about the physical abuse. After bravely answering them all, Sherry left the stand pale and shaken. They sat in the back, awaiting the outcome, only to learn the Judge needed time to think about the evidence. Everyone left the courtroom unhappy. 

Bob and his lawyer stood at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator.

Sherry said, "Let's take the stairs."

The coffee in Sam's bladder petitioned for immediate release. "I need to make a pit stop." 

She clutched his arm, and rushed him along. "Can't you wait until we're out of here? I hate this place. It's so depressing." 

Sam untangled himself and patted her hand. "I'll be quick. Go outside if you want." 

As he stood at the urinal, reading graffiti about jailhouse showers, Sam heard the door open and close. Hard soles tapped to the urinal next to him. 

"Hiya Sam." Bob Walker unzipped and released a loud stream against the porcelain. "Ahhh, what a relief. There's not much that feels better than emptying a full bladder, is there." He turned and looked at Sam, breaking the male code of urinal privacy. "Unless it's emptying a full load of spunk into a hot pussy, right Sammy boy."

Ignoring him, Sam shook off and zipped up. As he turned toward the sink, his shoulder bumped into Bob's arm.

"Jesus!" said Bob, shaking the piss off his dislodged hand.

"Excuse me." Sam walked away, smiling.

The door cracked open and Sherry's anxious voice echoed off the walls, "Hurry up, Sam. I have an appointment."

"Almost done, I'll be out in a minute."

"Speaking of pussy," said Bob, coming over to wash at the sink next to him. "How is my old frigid Sharon treating you, Sammy boy?"

Ignoring the pig at the trough beside him, Sam moved to the hand dryer and hit the start button, hoping the noise would drown the swine out. But Bob followed.

"I mean... it must be a real drag, screwing one of the hottest women around and then settling for Sharon." 

Sam's hands balled into fists.

"Jan was so hot. What a pair of tits... for an old broad. She was almost the best fuck I ever had."

Sam exploded. Grabbing two fistfuls of suit, he bounced Bob off the marble wall. ""Shut your damn mouth! Don't you ever talk about Jan."

"What's the matter, can't handle the truth?" He spat out. "She hated you for selling the boat, Sam. She’d walk along the docks at lunchtime every day, like a lost puppy. I asked her if she wanted to go for a ride." Bob stretched his neck to put his face close to Sam's. "She said yes."

Sam's grip weakened.

"God, she was hot. I took her out to the middle of the lake, and we fucked right on the cabin roof. She wanted it rough, too. I ripped a hole in her pantyhose and banged her like a bitch in heat."

Sam lost control. A fist in Bob’s stomach shut him up and doubled him over. Then Sam sent him flying backwards with a knee to the chin. A toilet flushed and a stall door creaked open. He stood paralyzed by hate and shame.

One of the police officers from the hearing walked around the corner and began to wash his hands. "Everything all right in here?" he asked, watching both men in the mirror.

Bob sat against the wall, blood running from his nose and mouth. "Arrest him. He assaulted me."

The officer walked over and started the dryer over Bob's head. He shook his hands, flicking water down onto his suit and tie. “I saw him strike you in self-defense, Mr. Walker. Now if this man wants to press charges against you, I'd be happy to testify."

Relief washed Sam's mind clear, and he released the breath he was holding in. "No, I won't press charges... this time." Squatting in front of Bob, he warned, "Don't ever bother Sherry again."

Walking out, Sam said, "Thank you, Officer."



Dead Write Ch. 10



* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *

Chapter 10

The sun beat down noonday hot as Sherry and Sam made the sweaty hike from the courthouse to the truck. A good fight had been fought with no clear victory. Fatigued by wounded hearts, neither had the strength to begin the battle debriefing. 

The truck interior had reached a flesh frying Fahrenheit. Sam opened the doors, rolled down the windows, and turned on the engine. "It feels like hell in there." 

"Here's a news flash, Sam, I've been living in hell for two days." Tears mixed with the perspiration on her cheeks.

"You knew what Bob was going to tell me, didn't you?"

"Let’s not talk about it now." She grasped his hand. "Take me home?"

He followed her inside, stomped on the accelerator, and burst into heavy traffic. Horns blew. He waved an answer with his long finger. 

Sherry pulled his hand down and pressed it against her damp cheek. “Please, don’t let Bob ruin everything.”

Yanking it away, he gripped the wheel and tried to analyze all that'd happened. But the image of Bob and Jan, out in the middle of the lake, on the cabin deck, fucking like dogs, kept intruding. The mental picture made vivid by see-worthy footage from his own boating memories. Jan had always been the more adventurous partner, and created diverse scenarios to spice up sex. The captured maiden ravaged by the handsome pirate was one of Jan’s favorites. 

With her head on Sam’s shoulder, Sherry fell asleep during the twenty-minute ride. The faint bags under her eyes hinted exhaustion. Her soft breath caressed his bicep. 

He shrugged her off and barked, "Wake up. You’re home."

Snapping upright, she smoothed her dress, took a moment to get her bearings, and said, "I’m sorry. I haven’t slept very much, lately."

Sam pointed at the wet spot where her mouth had rested. "You drooled all over my arm."

"I was dreaming about you, and you make me drool." She smiled sweetly and crinkled her nose, making a cutesy face.

His glare vaporized the smile.

A few minutes later, they sat across from one another at the kitchen table and nursed on glasses of iced tea. 

Preferring the direct approach, Sam said, "Bob told me he had an affair with Jan." 

Sherry slouched over the table. "I'm so sorry." Staring at her drink, she rolled the cold surface between her palms. "He threatened to tell you if I testified."

"You believe him?" he asked, and then took a sip to lubricate a dry throat.

Long seconds passed. Brown liquid sloshed and ice tinkled before she answered. "I didn't believe it, until he told me certain things, some intimate details."

"And how would you know those kind of details?"  

"The notebook, Sam." She gazed outside, into her Eden. "Jan was very explicit." 

Her face reddened as he studied her with squinty-eyed intensity. "Why didn't you tell me what Bob was going to do, so I’d be prepared?" 

"Why do you think? Don't act so dense." Her voice softened. "I didn't want you to get hurt. I didn't want Jan's memory ruined.” In a whisper, she added, “It wasn't fair -- after all you've been through." 

"So, you thought if you drove me away I'd be happy?" 

"No, not happy, but maybe drive you away to a safe distance. I thought Bob was bluffing and, if you didn't go to court with me, he might keep his mouth shut."

"Why didn't you just stay home and not testify?"

"Would you?"

Sam closed his eyes, thought it over, and said, "No.” He opened his eyes to meet hers. “I'm proud of you."

Tears began to spill from Sherry's brimming blues. 

He stood, moved to her side and pulled her up. She smelled like Jan used to after time in the sun. It was an earthy, herbal, feminine mixture that evoked raw emotions from past memories and present revelations. Playing with her hair, he fluffed out more of the aroma, and kissed her hard on the mouth. His hands balled into fists and pulled her head back to expose her neck.

“Sam, that hurts.”

Anger at Jan’s betrayal and a monstrous sensation of failure erupted. He wanted to strike back. Get even. Prove he was a manly man and not a weak, pussy-whipped eunuch. One hand slid down and squeezed her ass. His lips sucked on her throat. 

Sherry tensed, and tried to push away. 

The hand on her ass lifted the hem and dove into her panties. The other found the zipper at her neck and jerked it down. 

“Sam, I don’t like this.”

“Sure you do. Just give in. You know you want it,” he said, fumbling to unclasp her bra. 

“Don’t!”

He did. The elastic sprang apart the same instant his face recoiled from a slap hard enough to echo inside his skull. Shame swirled in his stomach and drained him like a flushed toilet. Suddenly empty, he let go and ran to his truck, ignoring the shouts for him to come back. Somehow he’d become a stranger to himself. Everything he believed true and solid became quicksand. There was nothing to hold onto. No one to believe in. 

Miles clicked swiftly by until he’d reached the vacant, country roads of home. Maples, oaks and pines blurred in his clouded vision. He began eyeing the closest and thickest trunks. One quick swerve and his misery would be over -- if it weren’t for Chris. As much as he hurt, Sam couldn’t put Chris through another death, not on purpose, not out of selfishness. 

Holding on to anger and letting go of self-contempt, he drove home. 

The answering machine blinked. He hit play.

Sherry’s pleading voice said, “Sam, please come back. I understand you’re upset. We can work this out together. If you won’t come back, call me so I know you’re all right. Don’t forget I have to tell you where the spare key is hidden. You’re still going to work on the bathroom while I’m gone, aren’t you? I love you.”

Women, they’re all alike. Use you until something better comes along.

He began cleaning house. Ripping Jan’s clothes off their hangers and tossing them on the floor felt good. Soon there was a pile in the hallway. He yanked open her dresser drawers and dumped the contents atop the multicolored mound. No one should ever wear them again. A fire seemed the best solution; maybe burn them right in the sanctity of their bedroom. Burn down the whole damn house.

As Sam scowled over the adulterous wardrobe, he morbidly wondered what she wore that day. Replaying the confrontation in the men’s room for the hundredth time, something Bob said made his heart skip. He kicked around the pile and found only one pair of garters and stockings, but no pantyhose. Jan never wore pantyhose. She hated them, and didn’t like to wear stockings of any kind. 

Materializing as a vision of renewed hope, another possibility sprang to mind.

Twelve miles later, Sam stood outside Sherry’s front door. Anxiously, he groped along the top of the doorjamb and checked under the welcome mat. Nothing hidden there. He continued his search beneath the overgrown shrubs along the sidewalk. Three feet from the front door sat a conspicuous rock. He picked up the lightweight imitation and turned it over to find the plastic cover of a hidden compartment. After rotating the lid he removed a key.

"Thank you, God.”

Driving the few miles back to a hardware store, Sam had a copy of the key made without question. 

On the return trip, he drove by Sherry’s house and made a left at the next block. The playground parking lot was only two houses from the corner. Shrubs or privacy fences with padlocked gates hid most of the backyards adjacent to the ball field, except for one yard where a nylon rope hung down from a brass bell. On the gate was posted a flowery sign that read "If your baseball is in my yard please ring the bell before entering. The gate is locked at night." 

"I doubt it." Sam commented to no one. Without ringing the foul ball bell, he entered Sherry's Eden, thinking, "This must be how Bob slithered in." 

No sign of life showed in any of the windows. Sam strolled undetected to the backdoor and slid in the new, made-while-you-wait key. With just a sneaky click of the dead bolt he was in the basement. 

"Good copy.” The shiny brass duplicate went into his pocket. 

The house was quiet. The carpeted stairs muffled a few squeaky treads. The first floor was as silent as the basement. A new fear for her safety grew.

The cluttered desk in the corner seemed a likely place to start. Nothing looked promising on the outside. He opened the top drawer. 

“What's this?” 

Jan’s doodled notebook with “Sam” on the cover lay right on top. He closed the drawer, certain that Bob broke in and read it. It was the only explanation that made sense, the only explanation he could live with. 

Sickened by the idea someone would use her intimate memoirs against him, his legs weakened, so he sat in a chair and let his thoughts wander. Two remarkable women loved him. The first had mentored the second, unknowingly as friends, and then intentionally. Jan had loved him that much, knew him that well. And now Sherry, an extension of Jan's devotion, wanted him. If he lost her it would be like another death. 

Sam wandered down the hall and stopped in the bathroom. The humidity from a recent shower hung in the air. A wet towel lay on the floor. He picked it up, and smiled. "She's not a neat freak."

The hinges of Sherry's bedroom door complained briefly as he peeked in. The air conditioner muted the sound. She lay on her stomach, facing away, covered in quilt. Her bare arms hugged the pillow. A tremor began in her right leg, then the left. The left hand slapped the mattress. Quickly, the motions became violent. He heard a whimpered, "No!" 

Moving to the foot of the bed, Sam sat down, gently rubbed her calf through the sheet, and said soothingly, "Sherry, it's all right. Everything's all right."

There was a sharp intake of breath. She opened her eyes. "Sam?"

"Hi, Honey." 

Her body relaxed under his hand. She rolled onto her back. "I was having an awful dream."

"I noticed."

"How long have you been here?" she asked, adjusting the pillow to hold up her head. The sheet slipped down, revealing the scenic entrance to breast valley. 

"Just got back." Sam pulled the bottom of the sheet out from under the mattress and folded it back to expose her legs from the knees down. Lifting a foot onto his lap, he began gently pressing his thumbs into the sole from the toes to the heel. 

With eyes closed and a, "mmmm", Sherry sank back into the pillow.

Continuing his fancy foot work, Sam said, "I know it's early, but can I tell you a bedtime story?"

She frowned, "Does it have a happy ending?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd love to hear it," she said, wiggling her toes. 

Sam began in a soft bedtime story voice, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Indian princess with delicious toes," and then bent down to nibbled on them. 

Sherry giggled.

Switching to the other foot, he continued, "This princess was called Sherry because of her drinking problem."

She playfully kicked him with the free foot. "Not funny!"

"I mean... because of her intoxicating beauty."

"Awww," she sighed, and briefly stroked his forearm with the kicking toes.

"Early in Sherry's life, she escaped from the clutches of an evildoer, named Bob the Blank. He was called this funny name because he had no ammunition in his tiny popgun." Sam continued to massage while she continued to smile with eyes closed. "Sherry was a brave princess, and wanted to help other victims escape Bob's destructive power. Blankity Bob found out and planned to stop her. So he went to Sherry’s home, but she wasn't there. He knew Sherry lived alone and that she kept a key hidden for emergencies. Searching along the sidewalk, Bob found a hollow rock under a bush that held the key."

Her eyes flashed open and stared upward, as her mind seemed to consider the possibilities.

"Bob took the key to a locksmith, had a copy made, and then put back the original, so Sherry would never know. Waiting until she was out, he snuck in through the garden gate and entered the basement to search for a way to stop Sherry from testifying. He found a book of secrets in the desk drawer, and devised a plan to trick Sherry into silence. Trying to manipulate her compassion towards others, he made threats to hurt the man she had fallen in love with. The malicious plan backfired when Sherry's handsome, cowboy lover…" 

She groaned. 

"…realized something was wrong and would not leave her to face Bob alone. The dastardly plan was exposed when Bob made good on his threat and told the cowboy a hateful lie."

Tired with the fairytale account, Sam spoke in his normal voice. "I almost believed him until he said Jan wore pantyhose. Jan hated stockings, especially pantyhose. She thought it was like wearing long johns that were too tight.” Sliding his palms up Sherry's smooth shins to just above the knees, Sam added, "She had legs like yours. Putting anything over them only diminished their appeal." He bent his head and kissed them. Looking up her body, he witnessed a tear run down her cheek. 

She asked, "Then, you're sure he didn't sleep with her?"

"As sure as I am that Jan loved me and hated Bob for what he did to you. It makes me sick to my stomach to think, even for a moment, Jan would have anything to do with him."

Sam traveled up her body and she spread her legs to accommodate the motion. His hands cupped her face as he dipped his head and kissed her flooded eyes. Tears dripped as she closed them to his tender lips.

He waited until she opened them again, and asked, "You know what else I'm sure of?"

Worry clouded her face, "That I'm more trouble than I'm worth?"

He wrapped her sheathed torso in his arms. Pressing himself to her, he caressed her ear with, "Sherry, I love you." Spoken from his heart, the words were a thrilling liberation. The truth set him free. 

"Oh, Sam, I love you too!" 

Sherry's answer fueled his fevered lips. He kissed her ear, neck, and cheek, finally covering her mouth. Their arms embraced one another. Bodies responded to the natural flow of affection. Even through clothes and sheets, Sherry found his hardening cock and ground against it. The covers had fallen off her breasts. Sam kissed down to tease each one. Her responsiveness stiffened him fully. How could he not want her always? Had she not proved loving and faithful? Was she not beautiful inside and out? Hadn't Jan prayed for this?

These whirling thoughts made Sam dizzy and he rolled onto his back. 

Wrapping the sheet around her, looking worried once again, Sherry turned onto her side. Her hand reached out and cupped his cheek. She laid her head on his shoulder, burrowed into the crook of his arm, and cuddled up. 

After an extended quiet, Sam said, "Sherry, what I'm about to say is going to sound crazy, but wait until I'm finished before you say anything."

With apprehension in her voice, she said, "All right, Sam.”

"You can't stay here tonight. It's not safe. And I don't want you to go away." He kissed her hair, then continued, "I have two weeks vacation left, and I could take them starting today. So what I think we should do is pack some of your stuff and have you move in with my mother for a few days. You'd be safe there, until our blood tests are done and our marriage license is ready." 

Her body tensed. 

He plunged on. "Will you marry me, Sherry? I want you to be with me, always. I know these last two weeks have been wild, but I'm sure, as I'll ever be, that we are meant to be together. I don't want to wait. Let's not give Bob the chance to tear us apart, or ruin our reputations."

Climbing on top, Sherry looked down on his smiling face. His hands began to slide the sheet back and forth over her bottom.

She asked the obvious question. "After what you heard in court, are you afraid I'm pregnant?" 

The strong hands slipped up her sides. "Actually, I know it's wrong, but... I hope you are." He moved a palm up to cradle her cheek and she rubbed her face against it, cat like.

She kissed his palm, and asked, "What happened to the man that said he was too old to raise a baby?" 

"A miracle happened. The man found a woman that made him feel forever young." After a pause, he added, "And if you're not pregnant now, we'll give it our best shot for a year. Then I'll go to the snip-and-clip doctor."

With an astonished face, she said, "What! You haven't been giving me your best shot already? I don't know if I can marry a man that's been less than forthcoming," then pecked his lips, swept the hair from her face, and grinned naughtily.

He pointed out, "If you want a fourth coming man you'd better find an 18 year old stud. The best you'll get out of me is two, on a good day." He wrapped his arms around her, showing he wouldn't let her go without a struggle. "But you'd be giving up quality for quantity." 

"Um," she looked off with a reflective expression, and tapped an index finger on her cheek as she considered her choices. "Quality usually lasts longer. And I've already experience the short and cheap marriage." 

Apparently coming to a decision, Sherry stretched out atop Sam. Throwing the sheet over their heads, encasing him in her cocoon, they lay nose to nose, feeling the other's breath and the expansion and contraction of chests. 

"Yes, Sam. I'll marry you. I've prayed for this, and now it's hard to believe it’s real."

His hand slid down toward her bottom. 

"Don't you dare pinch me! I know this isn't a dream," she said, and grabbed his wrist.

"Man! You're already reading my mind like a wife." Lifting his head, he kissed her. She kissed back hard, pressing his head to the mattress. 

Breaking the heated embrace, Sam tipped her over and pushed down her panties as she worked open his pants. They were both ready. When she positioned his cock he slipped in. 

With deliberate sluggishness they made languid love, a tender joining of bodies filled with rekindled joy. 

Sam fingered her clitoris, saying, “I hope we make a girl. Chris should have a little sister to look out for.”

Sherry groaned and squeezed, as her climax came. 

Sam pumped faster and released the building pleasure.

They lay entwined, quietly kissing. He smiled at his fiancée, wrapped in the sheet. The craving to ravish her until she was hoarse from screaming-orgasms burned hot. 

Instead, he bounced off the bed. "I heard it was unlucky to see the bride in her birthday suit before the wedding." Waving, he left with, "The sooner the paperwork's done. The sooner I'll have you all to myself. You'd better start packing."

If he'd waited, she would have treated him to a charming bridal blush.



Dead Write Ch. 11



* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *

Chapter 11

‘What have I done?’ reverberated in Sherry’s mind as they began the three-hour drive to their honeymoon hideaway. After all, she didn’t really know Sam -- not well, not long. She’d been single for over seven years, now suddenly she was a wife and a mother with all the responsibilities that go with those titles. The desire to run and hide from this relational revolution continued to build. An old expression, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it”, became glaringly appropriate. But the gold band on her finger marked the finality of her choice. 

Glancing at Sam’s tight jaw, she wondered if he was having second thoughts. 

After hours of counseling, Pastor Simmons grudgingly agreed to marry them, saying, “I love you both and, although this is extremely rushed, I think you two are a good match.”

There was one other person who thought the marriage was a mega-super idea -- seven-year-old Christopher. Sherry smiled, remembering how shy he acted after the brief ceremony. He’d hugged her softly before they left, and said, “Bye…Mom.” 

Her heart nearly burst. Sweeping him into her arms, she’d kissed his cheeks and said, “I’m so lucky to have you for a son.”

When Sam laid a hand on her knee, Sherry’s thoughts switched back to the present. He smiled reassuringly, and asked, “How’s my wife?”

“A little scared,” she said. Then added, “Husband,” shy as any new bride. The word felt foreign on her lips, but his touch made her body tingle with great expectations.

Placing his arm around her shoulders, he said, “We certainly have jumped into the deep end of the pool, haven’t we?” 

His compassion gave momentary peace. She rested her head on his shoulder, and thought, ‘I’m not the only one whose life has changed forever. We’re in this together.’

“Sherry, I feel like I’ve broken my promise to you.” 

“What promise was that?”

“I told you I wouldn’t put any pressure on you. Now look what I’ve done. I’ve pressured you into marrying me.”

From the quick glances, Sherry could tell that Sam was trying to read her expression, looking for evidence of concern. So she frowned to tease him, and said, “Actually Sam, you promised you weren’t going to pressure me for sex. You didn’t say anything about marriage. Technically you’re off the hook.” She gave him the crinkled nose, cutesy face, and added, “Just don’t plan on gettin’ any for a while.”

“Oh Lord, what have I done!” he moaned, and banged his head on the steering wheel.

Patting his knee, she said, “You’ve made your bed, Mister. Now you have to lie in it.”

“You’ll at least lie in it with me, won’t you?” he asked, making his brown eyes blue.

Sliding her palm up the inside of his thigh, over his groin and back, she answered, “You can count on it,” and winked. The truck cab became abruptly hot. The knowledge that she could caress him freely without feeling sinful was a delightful revelation.

“I love being married to you,” said Sam, as his hand left her shoulders to rub her inner thigh. 

She snuggled in. 

Then he added, “so far.”

Sherry pinched his side in retaliation. The playfulness lightened her mood. 

As the miles passed, they fell into an easy pattern of what’s next conversation -- Chris, friends, family, a new house, work. Time clicked away sweetly domestic with a tantalizing sexual undercurrent. 

During a quiet period, Sherry wondered, ‘How do you keep a marriage on fire?’ Glancing at her husband, she thought, ‘Sam must know. He’s been there. I hope my inexperience doesn’t frustrate him.’

Turning sideways, she leaned her chin on his shoulder, studied his profile, traced her fingers through the gray hair and tickled his ear. 

He smiled. The creases deepened at the corner of his eye. 

She remembered how his jaw clenched and the muscles flexed in his cheek when he was serious. It’s the little things you notice when you’re in love that become an almost extrasensory bond. She understood how he seemed to read her emotions so easily, having been married a long time. Women, who are good friends, probably have similar body language. ‘This is a man who wants to know my every detail.’ A tingle ran up her spine as she thought, ‘and will use it to keep us happy.’

The passing landscape changed from field to forest. Green mountains with granite peaks loomed ahead, while the air through the windows wafted a cool pine scent. 

“Tell me again where we’re going?”

“An old friend of mine from high school, Jeff Bingham, inherited this place from his parents. He lives in Texas now, and only uses it a few times a year, a couple of weeks in the summer and hunting season. A realtor rents it for him the rest of the time. I gave the guy a call, and found out no one’s booked it for this week. I told him we’d like to rent it, if it wasn’t too short notice. Then Jeff called me back and said he’s letting us use it no charge, as a wedding gift.”

“That’s kind of him.” 

“Yup, he’s a good guy.” Handing her a map, he said, “Pilot to navigator. These side roads are coming up fast. We’re looking for Bear Paw Lane. It should be on the right, in about seven miles.”

Referencing each intersection, the distraction of finding their way preoccupied them for a while. 

“Slow down, Sam.” Sherry pointed at a passing dirt road. “That was Panther Lane. Bear Paw should be next.”

After another mile, a path that looked like a rutted wagon trail from an old Western appeared. ‘Bear Paw Lane’, scarcely readable on a hand painted plank nailed to a tree marked the turn off. Shifting into low gear, Sam negotiated the narrow culvert, and they proceeded slowly through the dark forest. The truck crawled forward, swaying side to side through puddles and over rocks. A patch of light grew larger, until they broke out into a panoramic view of a sparkling lake tucked in between bald mountains. 

“Wow, this is beautiful.”

“I haven’t been here in years. It’s nice to know it hasn’t been spoiled.” 

They drove along a bluff, passing a few side roads. 

“Here we are.” Sam pulled into the driveway marked ‘Bingham’ and stopped alongside an A-frame log cabin, snug between the pines. Needles carpeted the ground. A breeze whispered over head. An expansive deck wrapped around the cabin’s side and disappeared in front. The sun was setting behind them, making the view crystal clear.

“Glimmer Lake.” Sam smiled, and hugged her sideways. “An appropriate name, huh?”

“Perfect.” Sherry grinned back, awed by the grandeur of nature and the promise of its physical delights.

“Let’s check out the accommodations.” They ran hand in hand onto the front deck and marveled at the blue water shimmering against the green forest. Twenty feet below floated a dock with an overturned rowboat at their disposal. Turning to look at the cabin, the front was almost entirely glass. The loft had a small, private deck, accessed from the room. 

Sam walked to the cabin. His baggy shorts revealed strong legs, and they flexed with each step. Broad shoulders stretched the tee shirt, as a muscular arm bent to put a hand in his pocket. Sam unlocked the door, pushed it open and turned toward her with the grin that made her heart pound. His eyes wandered over her, and she knew what was on his mind. To have and to hold, she was all Sam’s now.

“Mrs. Colton.” 

“Yes, Mr. Colton.”

“Come here, please. We must uphold tradition.” 

Her brain made a cerebral fist pump and thought, “YES!” as she sauntered in his general direction. 

Sam scooped her up and carried the blushing bride across the threshold. Inside, they kissed. 

After a long connection, he grinned down at her, and said, “Mmm, corny but fun,” and proceeded to tour the ground floor with her still in his arms. 

“You may put me down now, Husband. I want to tire you out, but not this way.”

“Wow, I like the sound of that!” But he continued to cradle his bride.

She floated through the kitchen, the bathroom and finally into the living room. The large, foldout couch in front of the window became her landing pad. 

Upon touchdown, Sam tried to disembark. But Sherry hoped for some post-flight hospitality, and clung to his neck. “What’s your hurry, Husband?” Then pulled him down into a persuasive kiss. 

With his brow raised in question, Sam asked, “Is it time to stop and smell the roses?” while his hands slid under and massage her lower back. “Stop and smell the roses, that can be our secret code for making love, Sherry. Since you’re a gardener, it’s perfect.” He sniffed her face. Then, snuffling like the Labrador she had as a child, he tickled her ear. 

She tipped her head to cover it, and laughed, “Stop it!”

“But you’re the prettiest flower I’ve ever seen. I must sniff you,” he said, tickling the other ear with air and sound. His hands slipped further up her back and fiddled with the bra clasp.

The release of elastic tension along with lips nuzzling her neck fired her senses. She closed her eyes, and reveled in the attention. Firm hands pushed up her shirt, until the cool room air washed over her breasts. Sam’s hot lips landed on her stomach. She played with his silky hair, and watched him stare lustily at her nipple. It hardened with anticipation. ‘What power he has over me.’

“I see a rosebud,” said Sam, and teased his nose against the turgid nub, inhaling. Gently, his lips touched the tip as if it would break, and then suddenly vacuumed it in, sending sparkles of sensations to her clit. 

She pulled him tight against it, and sighed, “Oh, Sam, I love you.”

He switched breasts, and while he watered and buzzed around the other budding nipple, his hands worked apart the button on her shorts. The zipper opened. 

“God, you’re coordinated,” laughed Sherry.

He sat up and grinned. “It’s a gift,” he said, pulling her shorts and panties down below the knees as she lifted her hips in a team effort. 

Sam knelt on the floor at her waist. 

Watching his fingers toy with her nipple and his nose play through her pubic hair, Sherry wondered if love could ever feel better than right now. She traced her fingernails along his forearm that lead to her breast, encouraging more, more, more. 

Kissing her abdomen, he said, “I smell nectar,” and then felt his fingers spread her petals. 

Blocked from sight by Sam’s head on her tummy, both his hands were now at work between her legs. She could feel their tender manipulations-- stroke, probe, widen, tease -- and something wonderful grew. 

“I’ve found a blossom in full bloom.” His voice, deep with emotion, rumbled vibrations through her. “It’s glistening with a moisture that’s,” she felt a long finger swipe pleasurably between her legs, and arched in response. She heard Sam smack his lip, “sweet. Mmm,mmm, good.”

“Sam?” Sherry wanted to touch him, return some of the affection, so she pulled on his shirttail, trying to get him to move within a reachable distance. 

“Leave me alone. I’m busy gardening,” then two fingers were planted inside, and her hands settled for massaging his scalp while her lips moaned, “Oh, Sam. That’s so good.” 

He turned to smile, and said, “Wife, you’re a beautiful flower. I love you.” Then his lips sucked in a nipple, his left fingers rolled the other and his right fingers seesawed into her, while the thumb plucked her clitoris.

“This isn’t fair,” Sherry moaned, pulling up his shirt to rub his back in time with rising passion.

After a wet slurp, Sam released the nipple to say, “All’s fair in love and marriage, Wife,” and then resumed mouth watering her bud.

This generous love was too much, the unbalanced affection so special, she couldn’t hold back. She didn’t want to. The old fear of rejection was gone. The fear of disappointing him disintegrated by the insistence of the selfless caress. A volcanic release erupted around his fingers. The sound of her own high pitched squeal seemed a manifestation of ventriloquism, so far removed was her physical coming from her emotional control. Never before had she felt so free to indulge in a sexual release. 

Kisses and words like “beautiful” cushioned the float down from the pinnacle. 

Pleasantly buzzed on the orgasmic rush, she faintly heard, “You rest your petals and stems, Rose. I’m going to start bringing our stuff in. We may want to eat or get dressed at some point,” followed by a kiss and a sudden coolness.

As comprehension returned, Sherry lay spent, and just enjoyed the view through the window. 

A short while later, Sam appeared at the window, holding a large blue cooler, smiling in at her, before moving toward the door. There was a thump when the chest was set down, a scurry of footsteps, then once again he stood at the glass, this time with his nose and hands pressed against it. His mouth made a silent “Wow” before he went back to the truck for another load.

Sherry studied herself to see what Sam ogled through the window. She lay on her back with her shirt and bra bunched under her chin and her shorts and panties tangled around her ankles. 

‘If he likes looking at me so much, I should give him a good show.’ 

Sitting up, she pulled the tee shirt off and threw both shirt and bra on the floor. When she looked back, Sam already stood at the window with his mouth open and another cooler in hand. Quickly she spread her arms across the back of the couch, then curled her legs up beside her with the shorts still bunched, and eyed him seductively. 

He grinned appreciatively, before leaving to come inside. Sherry watched him stumble over the threshold, drop the cooler and run back to the window for a second look. 

An “I love you,” came muffled through the glass, before he left for the truck.

Sam was gone longer this trip. Sherry had time to remove the rest of her clothes, then lay down with her cheek on the back of her hands to look out the window, wistfully. She bent her legs up at the knees and crossed her ankles to contract her hamstrings and derriere. ‘This’ll get’em,’ she thought. 

Sam finally returned. The look on his face, and the bulge in his shorts were unmistakable signs of being gotten to. 

Sherry laughed out loud when she noticed what he had taken from the truck. A toothbrush in one hand and a pair of socks in the other, unloading would take some time. While her audience watched, she pulled on her panties and slipped on her tee-shirt. The show was over… not really, just the first act.

Sam met her in the narrow kitchen. As she bent down to transfer food from the cooler to the refrigerator, he rubbed her bottom. “Nice view.”

Ignoring the fondle as best she could, Sherry continued to work, and said, “Bring in the rest, and I’ll organize. When we’re done, it’ll be time to stop and smell the roses again. I think this flower needs some fertilizer.” 

Arms suddenly snaked around her waist and lifted. The old sense of panic began to surge, but with a little effort she squashed it, realizing Sam was only being playful. 

After setting her on the counter, he stood between her legs, and said, “I like it when you tease me,” then leaned in for a kiss. It was long and filled with promise. 

Sherry hugged him, and wrapped her legs around to grind against him. She changed her mind. “Take me now,” she whispered. She wanted it bad. “Show me how to make a baby.” 

“Time to work,” said Sam, and backed away. 

But she clung to him like a Koala to a Eucalyptus tree, letting go only when he headed toward the truck. “Okay, Boss.” 

A retreating, “I’m not your boss. We’re partners.” reached her ears. 

It was not a very sexy comeback. Right now, she didn’t want a partner. She wanted a sex crazed Neanderthal. “What’s come over me?” Obviously, she was physically and emotionally overheated. The lake caught her eye, and she thought it might feel good to put out the fire temporarily. Sherry ran down the plank stairs to the dock. Other than a few distant boats no one was in sight, so she stripped off her shirt and panties and dove in. The cool liquid enveloped her flesh and extracted some of the fever. She swam a few circles and headed for the dock.

Above, on the deck, Sam smiled down.

‘I’ll show him.’

Summoning the new, carefree spirit of her inner wild-child, Sherry splashed onto the dock, waved, and then carried her meager garments up the stairs. The fire she’d doused in the lake rekindled in her husband’s gaze when she reached the top.

“Silly me, I forgot to take a towel.” 

Sam stepped forward, and said, “Allow me,” and wrapped her in his arms. 

Her flesh heated rapidly against his hard contour. “Dry me off upstairs, Honey,” said Sherry, making her crinkled nose cutesy face, while pulling him by the hand. This was a new and powerful emotion that drove her. Suddenly, she understood Sam’s past desire to take her forcefully. It wasn’t a violent domination. It was just simple lust for the one you love. She thought, ‘If I was big enough he’d be over my shoulder right now.’ Instead, she had to coax, tease, and seduce him. God, she wanted him. Why was he slowing down?

“What’s your hurry? We have the whole week, you know,” said Sam, anchored at the bottom of the stairs. The crooked grin hinted he was purposefully stalling, toying with her.

“I know! We only have a week. So get your ass up there, Husband.”

“Oh, so you’re playing the marital rights card, huh?”

She took his hand and dragged it down across her cheek, shoulder, and breast. When it rested between her legs she humped it slowly, closed her eyes, and begged, “Please, I want your cock in me.” The words made her blush. But why? She was within her rights. 

Dropping the hand, Sherry pushed up his shirt, pulled it over his head, and used it to mop up the few beads of water left on her torso. Then leaned into his chest and kissed each nipple before heading upstairs alone. “Close the front door before you come up, Sam. We need to consummate this marriage now, if you really love me.”

“Uh-oh. That sounded like an ultimatum.”

At the top of the stairs, she turned, tried to make a seductive pose, and said, “No, I think it will just be the ultimate.”

The loft room was Spartan in size. A dresser and a bed filled the space. The view was breathtaking. A skylight overhead and the glass doors out to the balcony opened up the room to include all of nature. 

The bed was already made. No preparation was required. Poking her head outside, she checked left and right. The coast was clear. Sherry stepped naked out onto the four-foot porch to soak in the wild splendor. Life had become wonderful. Her body throbbed with newfound joy. 

After ten minutes she wondered what was taking Sam so long. Old insecurities are hard to put aside. She leaned against the rail, and began to think Sam was having cold feet. Unlike her, he’d been happily married. So maybe his expectations were much higher. Maybe this wasn’t his ultimate thrill. Maybe she’d already disappointed him.

She ran back to the stairs and looked down, expecting to meet him halfway, but Sam was nowhere in sight. Dejected, Sherry went back, sat on the foot of the bed and stared out the window. She’d tried her best to be sexy and failed horribly. ‘Eventually, he’ll despise me too.’ A teardrop rolled down and jumped from her chin.

“Are you ready, Wife?”

Sam’s voice made her jump. As she wiped away her tears, he strode into the room, holding an open bottle of champagne and two glasses. He wore a towel and nothing else. “I had to do a quick clean up for my ultimate honeymoon consum…” His smile disappeared when he saw her face. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” 

In a heartbeat Sherry was in his arms and feeling like a fool. “Nothings the matter, Sam. I’m just happy, that’s all,” she said in a quivery voice.

“I’m glad to hear it, because I’ve never been happier, and you’d better feel the same or I’ll be pissed,” then he laughed, poured bubbly and handed her a goblet. “A toast,” he said, and raised his glass. “May all that God taught us so far become a foundation we build a wonderful future upon.” 




Dead Write Ch. 11



“Amen,” said Sherry.

They clinked glasses and sipped. 

“Oh, and one more thing. Here’s to my wife, an angel who can fly me to the moon.”

Sherry put down the glass and hugged him. He smelled so good and felt so good. She wanted to feel all of him. Her hands slipped down and pulled off the towel. Only his skin should touch her skin. Sam was an exceptional man, too good for her. But she’d do her best to deserve him, starting right now. She kissed his neck and massaged his bottom, feeling him grow against her tummy. It was an amazing sensation, his desire for such an inhibited bundle of neuroses like her unbelievable. But the hard evidence was undeniable.

Sam backed her up and pushed her down onto the bed. He loomed over her and leered at her body. “You’re mine now.”

“Oh?” She sat upright and grabbed his cock. “I thought you were mine,” she said, and then sucked on it with an intensity that made his knees buckle.

Cupping her face with his hands, he said, “Okay, you win.” 

After a long lick up the underside, Sherry looked at his smiling face. Warmth spread through her body and turned to liquid between her thighs. A sense of peace she’d never felt before chased away the goblins in her head. “I think this is one of those rare win-win situations,” and lay back, pulling him down into position.

With soft jabs, Sam pushed, until their groins met. Hugging her tight to his chest, he slid them comfortably into the center of the mattress and kissed her with blatant lust, exactly how she wanted. The slow penetrations of love stirred a greater need. She groaned, crossed her legs over his back and pushed with her heels. “Don’t make me wait.”

Sam’s momentum increased. Animalistic grunts floated out to the forest. Their skin slapped together with rutting abandon. She pushed harder, not caring if she came, only that he did. But his hands and lips made plans of their own. With unexpected ferocity, she felt it. A howling satisfaction burst from her clit as soon as he touched it. She suppressed the scream by putting her mouth on his and released the sound down his throat. She felt the scream travel through his body, all the way to his hips. They pumped harder, with erratic strokes, and then pressed into her with the final release of his seed deep inside her womb. ‘Please, make a baby.’

Muscles relaxed and breathing slowed. Kisses and caresses were passed around. The calm after the porn was the best of times. No, it wasn’t porn or sin anymore. Married sex was a precious gift from God. As they lay quiet, one of Sherry’s goblins crept in and whispered, “the newness will fade eventually.” So she tried to look past it, into family life. 

“Sam, does Chris like to fish?”

He rose up on his elbows, stroked her hair, and said, “He loves it. Why?”

“We should ask your mother to bring him out to us. We could meet her halfway. I’d like to spend some vacation time with both my boys.”

“I think that could be arranged,” said Sam, smiling as he bent to nuzzle into her hair. She felt a hand slip between her legs.

“We could wait until Wednesday, though.” The other hand massaged her scalp. The calm afterglow was starting to warm into something hotter. “Daddy comes first.”

Sherry looked over his back, out the door, to the horizon. A crescent moon just cleared the hills. “I love you, Sam,” she said and hugged him tight. “This will be a sensational marriage.”