13 comments/ 39329 views/ 4 favorites Sexuality Lost & Found By: ronde Sharon had been afraid that day in the shower. She was afraid when she made the appointment. Doctor Chin's cold hands had poked and squeezed, and brought to mind her manner of selecting a ripe tomato from its siblings in a grocery display. The monotone explanation and discussion did nothing but fan the flames that licked at her sanity into a raging inferno of absolute terror. Her drive to the quiet Chicago suburb was made in a slow motion mixture of unconscious mechanical control of the sedan and wildly careening thoughts. Now was terrifying and the future was impossible to contemplate. That night she told her husband, Jim, about the examination and the impending surgery. On Monday of the next week, Sharon donned the simple, open-backed gown and slipped between the stiff hospital sheets. An hour later, the smiling Doctor Chin paid a visit. It was as if she were trapped in a dream that kept rewinding and replaying, for the same quiet voice again explained the procedure to be followed, and the alternate procedure that would be required should the conditions be worse than he feared. Sharon watched her unfelt fingers grasp the pen to write "Sharon Morris" on the consent form. When she lifted the pen, the numb hand shook, and she realized she could not decipher the blue scribble that was her own name. Jim held her hand until the young nurse slipped a needle in her right arm, and then Sharon's world went to sleep. Sharon swam through a fog of clammy blackness toward a distant, tiny pinpoint of light. Her arms and legs would not function in their role as instruments of propulsion; her forward motion was the result of the iron will to burst from this prison of nothingness and silence. The pinpoint became a dot, the dot became a beacon, then suddenly burst into blinding brilliance that forced her eyes shut. An attempt to rise was made futile by the bindings on her arms and chest. She tried to cry out, but the painful effort resulted only in a tiny mew. "Sharon, it's OK. Just relax. You'll feel better in a bit." The gentle female voice was distant, and yet comforting. The soft hand that touched her forehead wiped away all her strength and she let herself fall back into the inky silence. The "squish, squish, squish" sound woke her. It took a moment before the white blob at the bedside became a plump nurse. The grey-framed face smiled down on her before turning away to stare at the wall. Sharon became aware of a gradually increasing tightness around her left arm. "Just lie still for a minute, Honey, so I can get your pressure." Sharon closed her eyes again and tried to remember what had happened. Her mind was a vacuum. The ripping sound at her arm brought her back to half-awareness of her surroundings. "There. All done. You ready to wake up, or you want to sleep a while longer? Some do and some don't, so either way is OK. You're doing just fine. Doctor Chin will be in to see you sometime tonight." Sharon felt her hand being closed around a hard plastic cylinder. As she began to drift back into the black cloud she heard the nurse again. "If you want anything, just push this little button." She woke again at the touch of a hand gently holding her wrist. This time, the nurse came immediately into focus. The grey head stared at the watch on her arm, then lowered Sharon's hand to the bed and wrote something on a clipboard. "Sorry I woke you, but I have to monitor pulse and pressure while you're in recovery. How do you feel?" "Exhausted, and my head is killing me." "Probably the anesthetic. It does that to some people. It'll go away in a little while. I can't give you anything for it until Doctor Chin says it's OK. By the way, I'm Bonnie, and your husband just stepped out for a minute. He'll be right back." Sharon was awake when Doctor Chin and Jim came into the room, although she was still a little groggy. The chubby Asian face was blank as he walked to her bed, and the icy chill of fear paralyzed any attempt at motion. Jim's face was a mask of some emotion she had not seen before. A lump began to form in her throat and she gripped Jim's hand tightly. "Mrs. Morris, I'm sorry, but it was worse than we originally thought. I'm afraid we had to remove the breast in order to get the entire tumor. I've prescribed a short series of chemotherapy treatments, just in case, but we found no indication that it had spread. You should be able to go home in a day or so, and take the treatments on an outpatient basis. I've asked that you be taken to a standard hospital room, and I'll look in on you tomorrow. Would you have any questions while I'm here?" Sharon bit her lower lip and shook her head. Speech would have meant releasing the tears of sorrow, rage, and betrayal that threatened to burst from her eyes. Speech would have meant screaming at God, "Why me? What have I done that was evil enough to deserve this?". Speech would have meant breaking the last gossamer thread that held mind to body. The tears would come, but they would come when she was alone. Three months later, Sharon stepped from the shower and patted herself dry. She walked to the full length dressing mirror and stopped. It had taken six weeks before she could bring herself to stare back at the disfigured woman imprisoned in the glass. Before that, she had only allowed herself to lower her head to examine the right side of her chest. The sight of the flat chest wall with the thin, red scar had caused tears and sobs for weeks until familiarity finally pushed them aside for thoughts of "At least I'm alive, aren't I?". The visits from the volunteer worker had helped some. Sharon could hardly tell which of the white-haired woman's breasts was real and which was the carefully matched prosthesis. The woman seemed at ease with her condition, but Sharon wondered if she had any reason to care. Celia was old enough to be her mother, and Sharon could not imagine the polite, matronly widow having any need to be thought attractive to the opposite sex. As soon as she no longer needed the dressing, Sharon drove to the shop on West Madison that Celia had recommended. The sales clerk had fitted her with the special bra and silicon rubber breast that disguised her loss. That bra, and the ones that followed, were pretty and feminine, and looked just like the ones she wore before the operation. Only the fuller cut of the cups and sides, and the special pocket for the prosthesis were different. When she was dressed, Sharon could almost believe that the disaster had never happened. The mirror on the bedroom closet door took every opportunity to force her belief in the reality. The first mirrored look at her altered body had been of the "good" side. The natural curve and swell of her left breast still looked as before. Sharon had always thought her breasts were nicely formed, if not large, and had fancied that men liked them too. The fantasy that she was unchanged could be maintained by the simple act of choosing her viewpoint. In a few days, she had mustered the courage to look face on with the image of herself. The need for tears had passed, and instead of sorrow, Sharon felt rage at fate and rage at the man who called himself a doctor but made his living by butchering women. "He wouldn't have been so quick to cut off his cock", she said to the face in the mirror. "Why couldn't he have found another way instead of leaving me like this." Jim had left the day after their first attempt at making love. She couldn't blame him for being honest, really, but his words still seared her mind. "Dammit, I'm sorry, but I can't. I just can't. You're not the same anymore. I look at you and..." "And what?" "You look...you're different and...all I feel is pity." Pity. Now she understood his unfamiliar face in the hospital. Jim might as well have called her an ugly hag. He had filed for divorce the next week, and had been more than generous in the divorce settlement, but Sharon had paid for the house and car with the loss of confidence in her sexuality. Returning to work had been hell. Her female coworkers had been sympathetic, but Sharon knew that, behind her back, they were thanking God it hadn't been them. She had also overheard a conversation during which Judy boasted that "she might not be as thin as Sharon, but at least she still had both boobs". After a time, she grew to hate their bodies, and then to hate the women who lived inside them. The men had suddenly lost the desire for the playful flirting that had been thrown her way in the form of innuendo and intentionally loud whispers. They treated her as an asexual being and their professional demeanor was killing her self-worth as a woman. On Saturday, she called her boss to request two weeks of vacation and then went shopping. On Sunday afternoon, she packed a few things, and was on her way to Michigan. She had to find herself again or withdraw into the private hell of her own hatred and paranoia. She and Jim had often driven to the Michigan coast before the surgery. Sharon loved the sandy beaches and the atmosphere of the little tourist towns. Bridgeman had seemed as good as any place to stop, and the "Lakeside Court" seemed to fit her mood. The older motel sat quietly in a grove of tall old pines. There was no motel as such; the rental units were kitchenette cabins set apart from each other along a thinly graveled, horseshoe drive. The faded paint and dilapidated appearance of the most remote appealed to her, and she smiled when told it was available. Sharon produced a credit card, and in one quick swipe, the shabby cabin became her retreat from the world. A short trip to the corner convenience store stocked the kitchenette with coffee, creamer and sugar. The pizza shop across the street furnished dinner, and by nine she was sitting in the creaky bed and reading the complimentary guide to the area attractions. Morning came filtered through the lush fronds of the sheltering pines. The travel alarm said ten when she lifted it to her eyes. Sharon first remembered where she was, and then remembered that the pizza had been small. While she made coffee on the tiny stove, the growling from her midsection served notice that a meal was expected. The chill of the night had not yet abated, so she slipped on a sweatsuit and jogging shoes. The sign on the diner said their specialty was pancakes, and Sharon ordered a short stack. After drowning them in maple syrup and butter, Sharon leisurely ate the strawberry treat. She drank the coffee black to make up for all the frivolous calories. Sharon returned to her cabin and tried to decide the activity with which to occupy her day. The photo of the beach on the guide beckoned, but the thought of wearing the swimsuit from the specialty shop terrified her. The lycra one-piece blaze of blue and orange was cut to hide the imitation breast and the thin scar, but deep in her heart, she knew any observer would quickly distinguish the contrast between the soft bounce of her own body from the more firm sway of the imitation. The thought nibbled carefully at her determination to overcome the fear; the swimsuit looked better hanging over the shower curtain rod and she donned shorts and a heavy T-shirt before driving out of town. The warm sand almost made her forget the reason for her trip, and the stares of the men lounging beside their wives made her smile. Maybe it didn't show after all. Sharon spent the afternoon on a blanket stretched over the sand. She felt almost herself as she watched one attractive man enjoying the sun and fresh air. He stole an occasional glance in her direction, and the possible scene played itself out behind her closed eyes. He would find a reason to walk over and they would talk. He would ask her to join him for the evening. There would be dinner and polite conversation over brandy; then he would take her home. She would ask him in for coffee, and they would sit on the couch together. The conversation would drift with their thoughts until he kissed her and she responded with all the pent-up passion of the last three months. He would begin touching her and then...; the chilling wind of reality caused her to shiver in fright. Then he would feel her body, make some lame apology, and leave. When Sharon looked back in his direction, he was gone. She rose, shook out the blanket, and walked back to her car. The little Italian restaurant was quiet and the chicken alfredo had been worth the effort of the dress and heels. Sharon had no particular plans for the rest of the evening, so she walked to the bar that adjoined the entrance. The people at the rustic tables seemed to know each other and were involved in their own conversations, so she took a seat at one end of the cigarette burn scarred pine bar. The interior was as far from Italian as the restaurant was from Rome. Mounted fish swam on their varnished plaques but went nowhere. Deer heads stared down through the smoky air with glittering glass eyes. An ancient canoe was suspended from the open ceiling beams. The black and white photographs that punctuated the fish and deer had faded to the sepia of advanced age. The odor of the place was unfamiliar and she closed her eyes in an attempt to sort out the smells. The bartender startled her. "And what can I get you this evening?" "Um, I don't know. Gimme a wine cooler, I guess." "One wine cooler, coming up. Berry, pina colada, fuzzy navel, or strawberry daiquiri?" "That strawberry one, I think." He guessed her at about forty-five, or at least a couple years younger than his fifty-one, and thought she'd have been a real looker even without the flawless makeup and the great legs that stretched out from under the short dress. The heels were a little much for Gibbey's, but they fit the rest of the package. His standard once-over had sighted the small shiny area on the third finger of her left hand. She had removed her wedding rings recently. The question of why crossed his mind when sat the bottle on a cardboard coaster and picked up the twenty she tossed in his direction. An hour later, she was still there, and hadn't touched much of the wine cooler. She kept staring at the back bar, and whenever he stepped in front of her to pull longnecks from the ice tub, she didn't appear to see him. She was thinking about something, that much he could tell, but she wasn't giving any hints as to the subject. On Monday night, things got pretty quiet after eleven; only a few regulars stayed that late. Martha and Trixie had left their table for a booth, and were leaning toward each other as they talked. Millie hadn't started for home yet, and since her long dress was up over her knees and Harold's hand was hidden somewhere under all that fabric, it looked like her husband would go to bed by himself again. There was a good reason Harold had a camper on his pickup, thought Jake. Karen was sitting by herself, sipping her whiskey sour, but Harry was looking in her direction, and it appeared to Jake that he was going to saunter over to have a talk. Harry was about thirty years younger than Karen, but she liked him and he'd always been good to her. The brunette was still sitting with the same wine cooler. Jake didn't have anything better to do so he walked over for a little conversation. "Haven't seen you in here before. Where're you from." The low voice would have been sultry if the tone hadn't been flat. "Chicago." "You must be vacationing then, 'cause we don't get many Chicago people except on the weekends." "Yeah, sort of." "You talk this much all the time, or do you just really like me?" The smile flashed for only a second, but the second was dazzling. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind." "OK, but if you need anything, just yell. Actually, you could probably even whisper and I'd hear you. Any little thing, just any little thing at all. I got to be here until two, and I guarantee you I'm gonna be bored way before then." "I'll remember that." She left at one. He picked up the five she'd left, and dumped the wine cooler down the sink. Tuesday night was a little faster, but he was going to be lucky if the tips bought much more than a hamburger. Not many natives came to Gibbey's during the week. The little sportsman's bar that was part of Restaurante Italia didn't have a TV or juke box. It's primary purpose was to siphon cash from diners while they waited for a table. On weekends, when Chicago invaded this little town on the coast of Lake Michigan, the bar did a nice business, and he usually went home each night with a hundred or so in tips. About eight, she walked through the door from the restaurant and took the same seat at the end of the bar. "What'll it be tonight? Another strawberry?" The smile flashed again, and it seemed to stay for just a bit longer. "I think I'll try the berry tonight." The slacks were just tight enough to accent the soft round curve of her hips as she sat on the stool. The blouse was buttoned high, but he didn't need to see skin to know she'd look good in a bikini. He was out of coasters and placed the dripping bottle on a stack of napkins. She tossed another twenty on the bar. It got busy for a while when a half-dozen fishermen came in for a nightcap. Jake listened to all the same jokes he'd heard a hundred times before from a hundred other fishermen, and laughed right along with them as they downed a continuous stream of beer. They went back to their motel at midnight, and after collecting their tips, he walked over to the pretty brunette. "There's a tradition here at Gibbey's. On your second night, you have to tell the bartender your name or buy him a drink." "A tradition, huh? I'll bet." "How about if I just say I like to know who's sitting at my bar then?" "You can say it if you want to." Apparently, she wanted to be left alone, so he walked back to the tap and wiped down the bar. Dave, the bouncer and stock boy, brought in a couple of cases of beer to restock the ice tub. He nodded his head toward the end of the bar. "You gonna get some o' that tonight, Jake?" "Doesn't look like it. She's got something on her mind, and it sure as hell isn't me. She's not talking much. Anyway Dave, you know I don't do that." "Yeah, right. What about Martha?" "Martha was ...a special case. She caught me with my guard down. I was drunk." "And how special was she?" "I might ask you the same about Karen. Your girlfriend know you took her home last week?" "No, you can't and no, she doesn't. Anyway, I just drove her home because she was a little drunk. We never did anything. Shit, that'd be like fuckin' my mom." "Hey, it's probably better that you didn't. I hear older women expect a lot from their lovers. You wouldn't even know where to start." Dave made a swing across the bar at Jake. "I suppose you know what she likes?" "Nope, never had the - " "Hey, bartender!" He walked to her end of the bar. "Yes, what can I do for you." "Sharon." She saw the question in his expression. "My name is Sharon. You said I had to tell you or buy you a drink, remember." "Well, it's nice to have you here, Sharon. I'm Jake." She took his outstretched hand in a firm grip, and he saw the pretty smile for a second. As she spoke, the frown returned. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" "How's that?" "You haven't had me..., yet." Her stern face cracked into a short giggle. "Sorry, one of the guys in the office told me that, and I couldn't resist." It was old, but she had enjoyed it, and he laughed with her. "So, Sharon, what brings you to Bridgeman on this fine fall evening?" The smile disappeared into a blank face. "I'm here for a couple of weeks...to think." "And what does a beautiful brunette think about?" "You wouldn't understand, and it wouldn't interest you, I'm sure." "Well, you never can tell. Try me out." Sexuality Lost & Found "No, I don't think so. Not tonight anyway. I - I have to be going." Jake cleaned up the bar at two, and wondered about Sharon. For a minute, it seemed as if she was going to loosen up and talk, but she pulled back inside herself as soon as she started enjoying things. Something was going on inside that pretty little head, and he didn't think she liked it much. At the Lakeside Court, Sharon stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. What's the matter with me? The bartender seems like a nice guy, and he wanted to get to know me. Just when we get started, I get scared and leave. It isn't like I had to sleep with him; I could have just stayed and talked. Sharon let the robe fall open. The scar was nearly invisible. Doctor Chin had done an expert job of preventing any major scar formation, but he couldn't keep the scars from forming in her mind. Sharon knew she had to eliminate those scars before she could go on with life. She touched the flat side of her chest. The sensations were there, different from the sensations of a touch to her breast, but the feeling was no longer painful. Her hand caressed the underside of her breast and then found the nipple. Sharon closed her eyes and imagined the hand belonged to Jake. If she could just find the courage to talk with him, maybe this tall man with shoulder-length, wavy hair would find her attractive. Maybe..., damn, had she come to this? Was she really looking to discover herself again, or did she just want to be fucked? After feeling the stares at the beach, and after Jake, she wasn't sure anymore. Sharon dropped the robe from her shoulders, turned off the light, and slipped into bed. She would find out tomorrow night, even if it meant using a little liquid courage to keep her from running away from the answer. Wednesday was a night off, but Jake dropped by Gibbey's about ten anyway. She was sitting on that same stool. The white shorts did wonders for her tight bottom, and he sat down on the stool beside her. "Hi there, Sharon. How you doin'." "I'm lonely. I thought you'd be behind the bar tonight." "Sorry. Tonight's my night off. So, you having any fun?" "I'm trying." She held up her glass. Jimmy, the other bartender, liked to put two cherries in his rum punch, and there they were. "You need to be careful there. Jimmy makes a mean drink, and he likes to give the ladies a little something extra. He thinks if they get drunk enough, they'll give him a little extra too." "Like a bigger tip?" "Yeah, something like that. Just don't let him take you home." "Don't worry, er...Jake, it was Jake, wasn't it? I'm a big girl. I can hold my liquor and take care of myself." She bought him a beer, and Jake felt obliged to buy the second round. He didn't know why she was drinking tonight, but Sharon was sucking on the straw like this one was water. He excused himself to go to the can, and Karen caught his arm as he walked by her booth. It took five minutes to explain that he barely knew the pretty brunette and that she wasn't his girl. Sharon's drink was gone by the time he returned. She could barely stay on the stool and he had to catch her when she leaned in his direction. "Whoa there, you're going to fall flat on your face. How many of these have you had?" "I dunno. Lemme count." Sharon ticked of the numbers on her fingers. Thiz my, one...two...three...four..., my fiveth one. Oops, I mean my fiff - , oh hell, you know wha' I mean. Jimmy makes re-e-e-e-ally, really, really, goo'drinks." "And I'd say four is about your limit." "Oh hell, I drunk more'n thiz at t' Christmas party las' year." "Yeah, well, they weren't Jimmy's rum punches. We better get you home before you fall down." "Hey! I'll be OK. Jus' don' step on my hands on yer way out." She giggled at her own joke. Dave winked at him as he helped her through the door. Jake smiled back and waved at him with an extended middle finger. "My car's ou' here somewhere. Iz a boomer, I mean a bimmer, I mean...oh, fuck. Here'z the keys." "I think we'll take my car, if you don't mind." Jake poured her into the passenger seat and she stretched sensuously as he shut the door. Just as he started the engine, Sharon sagged sideways and hit her head on the window. "Sharon, are you OK." "Yep, OK over here. You OK over there?" She was rubbing her head. "Yes. Now where are you staying." "That li'l place wis all the trees. Iz right by the road." Jake could see this was going nowhere. "Give me your room key." Sharon was asleep by the time he parked the car. Waking her up was tough, but Jake didn't want to carry her up the steps. She opened her eyes, threw her arms around his neck and tried to smother him with her mouth. "Mffft..., Sharon, you're drunk, and you don't know what you're doing. Now let's get you to bed." "I know wha' I'm doin' an' thank you, I'd love to." The steps were a struggle because she kept trying to inhale his face, but they finally made it. Getting through the door took a lot of coordination on Jake's part; Sharon didn't have any coordination left. He walked her to the bed and sat her down. She immediately laid back and gave him a drunken, "come here and fuck me" look. When Jake didn't move, she oozed off the edge, tried to stand up, and then grabbed her stomach. "Oh, God. I'm gonna puke." Worshipping the great white throne was no fun, and Jake felt for her. He'd have to talk to Jimmy about the pure grain alcohol he'd used in her drinks. After the first productive cleansing efforts, the dry heaves took over, and Sharon was shaking like a leaf when he finally got her to her feet and back in the bed. She was passed out cold by the time Jake pulled the blanket up to her chin. He wrote a note telling her that her car was still at the restaurant, said he'd pick her up to get it if she wanted, and left his phone number. Jake's phone rang at eleven the next morning. The voice that answered his "Hello" tried to sound casual, but the words came slowly and carefully as if every word was an effort. "Jake?" "Yes, this is Jake." "This is Sharon, from last night." "Hi, Sharon. How you doing?" "You really don't wanna know.... Your note said you'd take me to get my car?" "It'll only take me about twenty minutes to get there." She answered the third knock, and if he hadn't seen her the night before, he would have laughed. Her brown hair was wadded into a topknot, and the eyes that looked at him were full of tiny red lines. She was dressed in clean clothes, but the blouse buttons were one hole off, and the tail was hanging out of her jean shorts. Her bare legs were as white as a perch belly, and she flop-flopped out the door in loose sandals. When the sunshine hit her, she fumbled in her purse, produced a pair of sunglasses, and stabbed herself in the eye in her haste to get them on. "I take it you're a little under the weather this morning?" "What the hell did I drink last night? I haven't been this hungover since college." "Jimmy's rum punch, and I tried to warn you." "If the elephants pounding my head and stomping my stomach ever quit, I'll try to remember to thank you." She was quiet for the next couple of miles, and had that same far away look that he'd seen the first night. "Jake, what did I do last night?" "You got smashed at the bar, and I took you home. You spent some quality time hugging the toilet bowl, and then you passed out. That's all." "No, I mean...did we do anything?" "You don't remember? Damn, you really were drunk. You were yelling your head off, and that was just from the foreplay." "I was not. I'd remember that..., I think." "Nothing happened." "Are you telling me the truth?" Jake pulled the car into the restaurant parking lot, and turned to face her. "I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of drunk women. If you'd been sober, and invited me to your cabin, things might have been different, but I just put you on the bed, covered you up, and left. Satisfied?" "Yeah, if we had, you wouldn't have left me the note. You probably would have gone out of your way to never see me again." "Why, if I may ask, would you think that. You're a little frazzled looking this morning, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with you last night." "I just want this headache to go away." Jake shrugged off the dodge to his question. "If you'll come inside, I'll fix up something that might help. It always worked for me." She watched as Jake poured the tall glass full of bloody mary mix, added a teaspoon of sugar, and some lemon juice. He covered the surface with a layer of black pepper, and then stirred it vigorously. "They haven't brought the celery yet, so you'll have to take it without veggies." "You really expect me to drink that, don't you?" "You'll be surprised, I promise." Sharon tipped the glass and took a sip. "I guess it's not all that bad." She tipped the glass again and swallowed twice. "I thought bartenders didn't drink." "I don't drink that much anymore." "You said this crap always worked for you." "It did. A lot of years ago, I tried to hide in a bottle of bourbon. It didn't work, so I stopped." "And now I get the AA success story, I suppose." "Nope, never went there; I wasn't an alcoholic. I knew exactly what I was doing. It just didn't help, and I got tired of feeling like crap every morning, so I quit." "You're not going to tell me why, are you?" "You wouldn't understand. Anyway, I'm over it now, for the most part." Sharon took another big drink. "I don't know if it's this stuff, or what, but I'm feeling hungry. I owe you for last night; how 'bout if I buy lunch?" "OK, but you better fix that blouse first. It's not too bad, considering how you must have felt this morning, but it's a little tacky." The teenage waitress sat the baskets of chicken fingers and fries on the table and asked if they wanted anything else. Sharon bit into the slender piece of batter encrusted chicken breast, closed her lips around it, and said "mmmmmmm". "So, what does Sharon do when she's not passing out in southwest Michigan?" "I'm in the commodity market, you know, pork bellies and stuff like that. I buy corn and soybeans for a milling company. Doesn't sound very exciting, does it?" "It's probably as exciting as most jobs are. How come you're over here in the middle of the week?" "Oh, I needed to get away and relax, so I drove over on Sunday. I'm going to stay a week or two and sit on the beach. I just needed to get away from the stress." Sharon knew she didn't lie very well, and was relieved when he asked the waitress to bring some coffee. She added two packets of sugar and three of creamer before taking the first sip. This conversation needed to turn away from her reason for this mid-week stay away from home. "So, why did you "hide in a bottle" as you put it?" "Oh..., well, right after I got out of college - " "What'd you get your degree in?" Jake smiled. "English. I was going to be the next great American novelist." "So why are you tending bar instead of writing?" "Uncle Sam thought I'd be more useful walking through Vietnam with a rifle than sitting at a typewriter in Southern Indiana." "OK, you went off and played soldier. What happened after that? You could be writing now." Sharon saw the flash of anger in his eyes when he spoke. "I think it's time to go get your car." "Jake, I'm sorry. I've upset you with something I just said. I didn't mean to." "I'm all right. It's just that..., I didn't play soldier anymore than you play on the markets. I was dead serious and scared every time I walked into the treeline. It was either be dead serious or be dead, so there wasn't much choice. It just pisses me off when people say things like that." "Well, now that I've pissed you off, I'd like to do something to apologize. Would you have dinner with me, my treat again? You can pick me up at seven." They sat in a booth in back of the "Captain's Cabin". The decor of old dock timbers and netting was fake, but there was nothing fake about the perch fillets. Sharon pushed her plate back and sighed. "It's going to take about two weeks at the gym to work off everything I've had to eat and drink since I got here, but I feel really great." "Yeah, I eat here a lot when I'm not working. I like Italian, but it gets old when you have it five nights a week." "So, what should we do now? It's still early, but I don't think I want anything to drink tonight, and especially not if Jimmy's mixing the drinks." Sharon giggled. "You must take lots of women home when their drunk." Jake raised his eyebrows, and she blushed. "I mean, if they get too drunk to drive, you probably have to take them home, don't you." "Usually I just call them a cab." "So why me? You could have called a cab for me too." "I don't know. You just seemed to need help, and I decided to help you. That's all." "Well how about helping me out of here. I'm too full to get up by myself." Jake drove quietly for a few minutes, and thought about the woman beside him. He was attracted to her, but whether because he felt sorry for her or because he really liked her, was a question he had yet to answer. She made him feel at ease, and he didn't want to take her home yet. "Sharon, there's a full moon tonight. Would you like to go for a walk?" The surf lapped quietly at the sand and the crickets chirped noisily as they walked along the shore. Both were lost in the serenity of the inland sea and in the questions that floated unspoken and unanswered in their minds. "Jake?" "Yes." "Was Vietnam why you drank? I've heard that some of you guys had problems when you came back." "In a way, I guess, but it wasn't what happened over there. It was what happened when I got back." Sharon slipped her arm under his. "Would you tell me?" "I landed at O'Hare, and it was like I landed in a foreign country. Protesters were standing outside the airport yelling I'd killed women and babies. Then I got home, and I didn't know anybody. My old friends had all changed and I didn't like them anymore. My girlfriend decided I was much too serious for her, and took off with another guy. Dad and his buddies thought I'd spent the tour smoking pot instead of fighting a real war like they did. I felt like I was alone, and finally decided I liked it that way. All I needed was something to help me get to sleep. I slept a lot, that first six months, before I realized I was the one who'd changed. I quit drinking, and started tending bar. I've been doing it ever since." "And why didn't you start writing?" "You can only write about what you know and feel comfortable with, and I really didn't want to remember anything about that year. After a while, I just forgot about it altogether. Actually, I'm pretty happy with my life, even though it didn't turn out like I'd planned. I like my job, and I like the people." Sharon felt the tentative touch of his hand as it searched for hers. "Some of the people I like better than others." Sharon stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes stared into his for a second before she raised on her toes to kiss him. She felt his arms wrap her into a tight embrace as he kissed back, and the long missed and almost forgotten tingle of sensation raced through her body. The kiss wasn't long, but it was enough to convince her that at least one man still found her desirable. "It isn't often that women kiss me before I kiss them." "Uh, I sort of got carried away, I guess." "I didn't say it was bad; I just said it doesn't happen often." "So..., what do we do now?" "Well, for starters, I think I'll kiss you again." Jake enveloped her in his arms and pulled her to his chest as his lips found hers. Sharon had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be cradled against a man, and sighed against his mouth.. She opened her lips at the tickle of his tongue, and moaned when the soft teasing tip met her own. In moments, she had lost all sense of propriety, and tried to crush herself into Jake's body. Sharon abandoned the seatbelt to lean on his shoulder as they drove to her cabin. She needed this man's touch and his affection for her. If only he could see her as a woman after...her insecurity returned, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. Only the tear that trickled down her cheek would have betrayed her feelings, but in the dark, Jake couldn't see the shining droplet of fear. Jake opened the door with her key, and they stepped inside. Sharon reached for the light switch, but he stopped her. He kissed her again, then picked her up and crossed the room. As she lay on her back, she felt his weight settle beside her. A hand gently caressed her thigh and then slipped over the leg of her shorts. The hand slipped under her blouse and began tracing a fingertip over her belly. Sharon instinctively placed her arm under her breast and blocked any movement toward her bra. Jake didn't try to force her. He wanted her to accept him on her own terms. He slipped his hand down and stroked her smooth inner thigh as he kissed her again. His fingertip eased under the loose leg of the shorts and lightly brushed the soft hair. Sharon's kiss told him she was enjoying his touch. He found her zipper and eased it down, then fumbled with the button. Once it released, Jake slipped his hand inside to her satin clad lower belly. He found the scrunchy area of her curls and lightly stroked her mound before moving lower. Sharon obliged by opening her thighs. The separation of her lips was the next site of his caress, and Jake lavished the small crease with gentle strokes that became firmer as she reacted. When the caresses stopped, Sharon opened her eyes. Jake was kneeling beside her and looking into her eyes. In the moonlight that shone through the window, she saw his hands go to her shorts and his questioning look. Her response was to smile back as she lifted her hips from the mattress. She didn't want to stop him, and couldn't have mustered the will even if she had. Jake slid the garment off her legs and then lifted the waistband of her thong. Again, Sharon raised, and the wisp of fabric fell on the floor. Soon, Jake lay again at her side, but this time, no clothing separated his shaft from her thigh. His touch was exquisite against skin deprived of touch for so many months. When his fingertips slipped down the soft lips swelling with passion, Sharon caught her breath. Jake's touch released her mind from the fears of rejection that had tortured her for so long, and she abandoned herself to the feelings swelling inside her. She pulled him to her and kissed him as she had kissed only one other man, and Jake's response turned her belly to molten desire. Jake was in awe at the ease with which he was exciting Sharon. It was as if any touch caused waves of sensation to course through her body. Her kisses inhaled him and surged to his loins in a pounding of blood and a throbbing in his erect manhood. He had first feared she might reject his advances, but now feared he might disappoint her. Almost before he was ready, Sharon spread her thighs wide, and pulled him between them. Her hand closed around his shaft and gently pulled him to the portal. She slid the head between her soft lips, wetting it with the moisture that glistened in the moonlight, and then pulled him forward. When he slipped through the velvet clasp, it was Jake who groaned. He tried to go slowly, but Sharon thrust her body up and drove him inside her. He pulled back, and gently pushed in again. His careful control was demolished by her moan and the heave that buried him deep in her belly. "Oh God, Jake. I need you." Sharon felt his stiff manhood slowly moving in and out of her passage, and waves of excitement and expectation raced over her skin. Making love had always been nice with Jim, but this was more than making love. This was liberation from uncertainty and fear, and she selfishly allowed herself to float in the reverie of the moment. Her body freed itself from her mind except for the connecting nerve threads that fed the growing need for release with surges of sexual sensation. Her left arm stayed firmly placed to guard her secret, but the other tangled in Jake's hair and pulled him to her lips.. Her tongue sought every niche of his mouth and every texture of his tongue. The feeling of his hard thighs brushing against her satin skin, and the incredible sensation when his cock pushed into her belly forced her to thrust until his balls tightly pressed against her hips. At this instant, her swollen button would brush against the base of his shaft, and a lightning flash of flame would scald through her belly and consume her with the heat of lust. Sharon craved this searing sensation and began to urge Jake to increase his speed. Sexuality Lost & Found "Oh..., there..., God Jake, there." Jake was being driven to a frenzy by Sharon's actions and murmuring cries. Never before had a woman made him feel this way. It was so easy to fire her desire that he didn't realize he was keeping pace with her. By the time he surfaced from the pool of his own pleasure, he realized he could not hold back. Sharon's body had captured his manhood and would not let him ease back into only maintaining his own level of arousal. He had no choice in the timing. Sharon stiffened and then grabbed his hip and pulled him to her. His cock slipped deep, bumped against something wet, warm, and soft, and erupted in a flow of seed. He was far beyond any control, and pulled back to surge quickly against the hot end of her passage. As his shaft penetrated her deepest depth and spurted again, Sharon began to quiver. A low cry forced through her pursed lips and her hips rocked in the violent shudders of explosive release. Waves of contractions milked his manhood while Sharon gasped and cried out his name. With a final arch that lifted them both from the mattress, she sighed loudly and pulled his face to her shoulder. They lay together as she stroked the back of his neck, and the tiny tremors of her belly pulled at his buried shaft. In due time, Jake slipped from her body and rolled to his side. He raised on one elbow and kissed Sharon on the forehead. The whispered words, "You're wonderful." fell on unhearing ears. Sharon was asleep. Jake woke early because of the strange surroundings. Sharon lay beside him in slumber with her left arm still holding the blouse to her chest and the other above her head. Her lips were parted sensuously, as they should be for such a woman, he thought. He gently lifted a few strands of her hair and tickled her upper lip. Sharon brushed at her face and wrinkled her nose. A second tickle resulted in another brush before her eyes flickered open. The smile when she saw him was beautiful. Jake leaned to kiss her, and the sensuous reply from her lips forced a tightening sensation in his crotch. He stroked up her thigh to her mound and swirled his fingers through the tight curls. "Jake, I have to pee...and I'm all sticky. Don't go anywhere, OK?" Sharon rose from the bed and padded softly toward the bathroom. The sight of her full hips swaying in the motions of her stride made him smile. His imagination saw what he could only hear. The soft swishing sound told him she was relieving herself, and was followed by water running in the sink. A few minutes later, Sharon walked back to the bed and slipped in beside him. His thigh felt wet hair; she had made herself fresh for him. He smiled at her and she beamed back the blazing grin which she had only hinted at in the bar. Jake caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, and let it drop to the top button on her blouse. As he lifted the small round plastic disk, he saw the smile replaced by a look of terror. She grabbed his hand tightly. "Jake..., please..., don't." Sharon saw his face form a question she was not ready to answer. "You won't like what you find." Jake lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Sharon, I already know." Her lower lip quivered as she spoke. "What do you know?" "I know you've had a..., that you've had surgery." Jake saw the tears forming in her eyes. "It shows that much?" "It doesn't show at all. I wouldn't know if I hadn't seen your swimsuit in the bathroom the night I brought you home." Sharon cocked her head, and he explained with a shrug. "My sister had a mastectomy a couple of years ago. She showed me how the bras look." "And now you have this burning desire to stare at me like I'm some freak in a carnival?" "No, I have this burning desire to make love to you again. I just wanted to feel all of you against me this time." Sharon sniffed. "No. You'll hate me and leave, just like..." "Just like your husband?" "He divorced me three months ago. He said I didn't..., th-that he couldn't -" "What an asshole." Sharon's eyes flashed and her mouth opened. "What did you say?" "I said, what an asshole. I mean, didn't he realize you're still the same woman he married? You still have the same brain, the same voice, the same emotions. Did he think all that left when you lost your breast?" "I don't know what he thought. He said he just felt pity for me." Sharon turned her face away, and Jake gently turned it back to him. "Sharon, it doesn't matter to me. You probably don't believe that, but it's true. I'll admit, I was a little nervous after I found out, but yesterday..., well, I learned about the real you, the person that's inside the nice body and pretty hair. That Sharon is the one I stayed with last night. She's the one I made love with, and she's the one I want to keep seeing." The words pulled at her heart, and her heart wanted to believe. Her sense of reality kept screaming that he would be just like Jim, and she didn't think she could take a second rejection. Sharon sat up and looked down at the face framed in the dark waves of hair. It was smiling back at her, and the eyes weren't lying. Sharon wanted so much to trust him. You won't know until you know, the inner voice told her. Sharon found the top button of the blouse and slipped it from the hole. The second button followed, then the next and the next until the blouse hung open from her shoulders. Jake reached up and gently slipped it off. He let his hand stroke the soft skin beside her neck and then rubbed down her arm. "See, I'm still here, and if you'll look, you'll see that I'm definitely not having any problems yet." Her glance at his crotch told the truth of his words. His cock was standing up straight, and the veins on the surface stood out as they pumped passion into the dark, swollen head. 'If you're still not sure, it's OK." Sharon slowly reached behind her and unhooked the bra. Her breast fell from the confining cup and peeked out below the satin. Jake pulled her down to him and kissed her deeply. His hands slipped the bra from her shoulders and then caressed up her sides. Sharon felt a thrilling tingle when he cupped her breast and a jolt surged to her belly when he brushed the erect nipple. Jake pulled her on top of him and she became lost in his caresses and kisses. The next half-hour was a blur of confusing thoughts about herself and Jake and the exquisite sensations rolling through her body. The thoughts magically evaporated when he entered her, and they swam through the sea of desire that united them into one groping, thrusting, orgasmic entity. After the shattering wave of release shot through her, she collapsed on his chest in sated bliss. "So, that wasn't half bad, was it?" Sharon pushed herself up on her palms and smiled at him. "No. In fact, it was great." Jake lifted her breast and gently squeezed. "I could get to like this." They didn't make love again, but they stayed in bed until noon. Jake held her close and they talked about his life and hers. Neither mentioned her former fears and little by little, Sharon began to fall in love. That night, as they walked together through the town park, Jake asked when she had to go back to Chicago. "Well, I took two weeks off, so I have to leave the Sunday after next." "I don't know if that's going to be long enough." "Long enough for what?" "For me to figure out if I should ask you to stay." Sharon stopped and looked into his face. "If you ask me now, or wait 'til then, I'll still say yes. It's only an hour's drive from here to my office. The commute won't be any longer than from my house." Sharon did drive back home the next Sunday, but only to see a realtor about selling the house. Jake's small apartment would do until she found a house near Bridgeman. She moved in with three suitcases on Monday. The furniture could stay in storage. She also brought a typewriter and three reams of paper. It was Sharon's only condition for leaving Chicago. That night after work, Jake sat down, took a deep breath and started pecking away at the keys. Chapter 1 After you tend bar for a while, you start to recognize the types. Take Janice and Mitzy over there, at the table under the moose head. Mitzy's husband beat the hell out of her three months ago, and Janice took her in. They've been together since, and I think there's more than friendship there. The woman in the short skirt leaning over the pool table is Jenny. Why she ever married old Mike is anybody's guess, but she's in here every night, flashing her ass at Harry. In about an hour, they're going to leave, but they're going only as far as the camper on Harry's pickup. Katey, the woman in the back booth, fooled me at first. The hair color and dim lights make her look about twenty years younger than her actual sixty. She's lonely, and comes in here in hopes of finding someone to be with, if only for the night. I figure the guys who take her home get the best end of the deal, because she's a really nice woman once you get to know her. The brunette who sat down on the last stool didn't fit any of these types. Any woman with a body like hers wouldn't be fishing in this place. She'd be holding a wine glass at some ritzy cocktail party and talking to the guys with penthouse offices and thousand dollar suits. I walked down the bar and asked her what she'd like to have.... * * * * * Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and send feedback if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing. Thanks again, Ronde.