6 comments/ 61165 views/ 1 favorites Bottles By: Dr_Impervious Have fun and invent yourself a game to play along with her counting. Replace every seven or any number divisible by seven with "bottles." Can you beat her at her own game? Ideas: - Change positions or hands with each "bottle." - Count along and restart from the beginning each time you miss a "bottle." - Flex your pelvic floor muscle with each "bottle." Have fun... * * * * * Click Here to listen. (3 min/mp3) * * * * * Bottles This is a completely stand-alone story or the Valentines Day contest. However, for those following the "Strange Arrangement" stories, I know I promised Dottie's story was next, but I didn't like how her story turned out, so it's getting a big rewrite. In the meantime, here is a single-chapter story that includes one minor character from A Strange Arrangement and introduces another character (Macy) who will show up in Dottie's story (and maybe a few others). Timing-wise, this story begins about 4 years before "A Strange Arrangement." * Everything about her was so cliché, I almost couldn't believe it was real. She stood at the end of the pier, her summer dress rippling back from the sea breeze. Her arms were wrapped around her body, holding her light sweater in place as the early evening chill took hold. In one hand, she held a glass bottle. In the bottle was a rolled and folded up piece of paper, kept safe by the cork stuffed in the top. After a few minutes of looking out at the water, she stepped up to the rail, pulled back her arm, and threw the bottle. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched it sail through the air and land with a plunk in the sea a few dozen yards out. Me? Well, if this was the kind of movie that had a scene like that, then I was the extra in the background. I was the bearded, silent fisherman sitting motionless on the side, adding a touch of reality to the scene. You need that touch of reality because beautiful women throwing messages in bottles into the sea just isn't real. Yes, she was beautiful- not in a magazine cover, showing off her curves type of way. More like the kind of beauty that men would write poems about- that familiar kind of beauty that reminds you that life can be good. A beauty that put you in touch with something bigger than you or her or anything that might happen between you. A beauty that was more about longing than possessing. Her reddish-brown hair would have fallen just past her shoulders, if the wind had let it settle down. She needed to keep pushing it away from her eyes- not that there was anything on the horizon for her to see. The wind also did me the favor of blowing her dress against her body, making it hard for her to disguise her form. She was a little shorter than me, and I'm just average. I could tell she wasn't heavy, but she wasn't real thin, either. She had the kind of body a man likes to hold. She was generously equipped up top, but it was all proportional to her size. It occurred to me that it would be nice to lay my head on her chest, but that it would also be nice to have her head resting on my shoulder. I guessed she was about my age, though she looked a little older. She seemed aged by care and sadness, but that might have just been my imagination. I couldn't get a good look at her face at first- the sun was playing tricks on me, and I didn't want to get caught staring. But what I did see made me want to look some more. If it weren't for her sad expression, I would have said she was radiant. She had hints of freckles across her nose, which turned up a little at the end, giving her a pixie-ish look. She was barefoot, holding her sandals in one hand. How long she stood there, I'm not sure. One of the reasons I came out there was to lose a sense of time. When I was on the pier, there were no hours or minutes. Just afternoon, sunset, then dark. She got there just before sunset and stayed a little into dark. Then she glanced my direction, turned, and walked away. I stayed another hour, not seeing another soul the whole time. Reeling in my line and packing up my tackle, I walked around to the shore under the pier. Glancing both directions, I headed towards a hint of a glimmer of glass on one direction. Sure enough, there was the bottle. I wondered if she knew it would just wash up on shore. Or did she have some romantic notion of it floating away into oblivion? I dropped it in my bag and walked to my car. Another Friday well-spent. Nothing caught, but nothing lost. ******* Have you ever thought about a whisper? Have you ever considered what it means? A whisper means your lips are so close that all you need is a breath of air to share your heart with someone. Just a little breath. If you were here, I would want your lips next to my ear. It doesn't really matter what words you would say- a simple "I love you," or even "I want you," would be more than enough. If only I could feel that breath, that warm air that tells of presence and life and a beating heart nearby, that would be enough. Just your whisper. I looked at the hand-written note. I felt a twinge of guilt at what seemed like a invasion of her privacy. But she had thrown it into the sea. It's not like it had an address or even a name on it. It was out there for anyone to find and read. She had to know that. She probably just didn't expect that it would be found a few minutes later by someone who had watched her throw it. Besides, I was curious to see if it was, as I suspected, from the same hand that had written the note I found a while ago. It was the same thing- a green glass bottle, a scrap of paper, a cork, washed up just under the pier. I had only found the first one because I had dropped my keys on my way out to the pier one afternoon. I was glad I hadn't dropped them in the water, but it did take some sifting through the sand to find them. They had landed only a few feet away from a bottle. Not wanting some unsuspecting runner to get a foot full of glass, I picked up the bottle to throw it away. Naturally, when I saw the paper, I had to read it. It was shorter than today's note, but similar. No names, just a single thought: I want to miss you when you're gone. Not like missing someone who will never come back, but that kind of missing that waits with eagerness to be reunited. When someone is gone forever, you can't have hope, only foolish fantasies. But when someone promises to return, then all your longings are hopeful- a sadness mixed with the anticipation of joy. I want to miss you like that. I had found it a little poetic. I had put it back in the bottle, re-corked it, and stashed it in a drawer somewhere. Now that it had a friend, I put them together on a shelf- more as decoration than anything else. The shelf was out of the way, but whenever the bottles caught my eye that week, I thought about them and their mysterious author. So many possibilities- was she writing to a lost love? To someone who was far away? Someone who would never return? Or was she some eccentric performance artist who did this 'just because'? Did she keep copies of her notes? How often did she 'send' them? It was just curiosity on my part- something to keep my otherwise idle mind occupied. ******* I soon got my answer to the last question, at least. Over the next month she came every Saturday, just as I did. Same thing every time. Arrive before sunset, watch the water for a while, throw a bottle, stare some more, then leave. And every evening, as I left, there was another bottle on the shore. Every evening, I picked it up and took it home. My conscience didn't let me read any notes other than those first two. After a while, my shelf was full, so I started putting them in a box in my garage. Not too romantic, I know, but what else was I going to do? Throwing them away didn't seem right. ******* September was stormy, so I wasn't even looking for her. I had seen her every Saturday evening for 3 months, but when the rain came that afternoon, I didn't expect to see her there. I was wrong. My peripheral vision was a little obscured by the hood of my rain coat, but once she did her wind-up and threw the bottle, I saw her. She was only 10 yards away from me, but the clouds made it dark and, like I said, I couldn't see to the side. Just as she was turning to leave, I shouted across to her, "I didn't think you'd come." She looked over at me, took a step or two my direction, then leaned over so I could hear her. "I didn't think you'd be here, either," she said. Then, pulling her hood over her head, she walked away. After that brief exchange, the only thing that changed between us over the next few weeks was that, before leaving, she would usually give me a little wave or a half-smile. I'd usually just nod in response. Yes, I was curious, and yes I would have liked to know her better, but I didn't think I had the energy to put myself out there again. Not yet, at least. ******* "Watcha doin'?" I was surprised to hear a child's voice behind me. I liked this pier because it was far out of the way of any occasional passers-by. Families on holiday, newlyweds on honeymoons, college kids on break- they all ended up at the main pier a few miles up the coast. A rocky outlet kept people from wandering this far down the beach. You had to want to get here. I half-turned and saw a brown-haired boy of about 8 years looking intently at my tackle box. He had on a hooded sweatshirt jacket and his hands were stuffed in his pockets. "Just fishin'" I answered, hoping that was enough. "Why?" "It helps me relax" "Oh," he said, shuffling his feet. "I need to relax sometimes. I get really excited and act crazy. Sometimes my mom cries. I don't mean it, but I can't help it." "Hm," I grunted, hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone. "Is that all you do?" "Hm?" "Fishin'. Is that it- you just sit there?" "Well, kinda. Yeah." Without another word, he sat down on the pier, about 5 feet away from me. He scooted forward and dangled his legs over the side. Folding his arms, he rested them on the lowest rung of the railing and stared out at the sea. He remained, to my surprise, quiet. I kept my head angled a little his direction, just to make sure he didn't slip off or, more likely, start digging in my bag. That was probably why I didn't notice bottle lady's arrival until I saw the bottle go sailing through the air. I looked in her direction briefly, but wanted to keep an eye on the boy, too. After a few minutes of staring at the waves, bottle lady called out towards me, "Randy, what are you doing? Don't bother the nice man." I winced a little at the word 'nice.' I knew what she meant, but the word had another meaning for me. "I'm fishin'!," the boy hollered back. I tried not to laugh at that, for his sake. But in his defense, I wasn't really doing much more than he was, so it was an easy mistake. Bottle lady looked at me and said, "If he bothers you, just tell him to go away. I'm sorry..." "No, it's fine. He's just being quiet." She looked at me a little skeptically, but when Randy still made no move, she looked impressed. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, she called out again, "OK Randy, let's go." Randy pulled his feet up, stood, and skipped over to bottle lady. "Mom," he said, "I like fishin'." She tousled his hair and laughed, "Oh, really?" "Yeah!" he said, just as he ran down the length of the pier to the sand. I noticed for the first time that a light-haired little girl, maybe 4 years old, had been on the other side of Randy's mom, clinging to her mother's dress. She had made no sound and hadn't moved the whole time. While bottle lady walked away, the little girl clung to her dress and followed. I'm not sure what possessed me to do so, but I smiled and waved at her. Her eyes went wide in surprise and she tried to hide her face in the folds of her mom's dress. But just before she was out of sight, I saw her lift her hand and wave. After one slight hand motion, she pulled it back and hurried to be closer to her mom. So bottle lady had kids. That made her story a little more interesting. An hour later, I collected the bottle and went home. I started heating up a pot of water to make dinner, and as I waited for it to boil, I pulled the latest bottle out of my bag. Pushing aside a twinge of guilt, I pulled the cork and shook the paper out. Silence. Not a bad silence, but a good one. We can be together and be silent because there's no need to entertain each other, no need to explain. We know each other so well, you and I. And though there are times when we talk through the night, sharing secrets and dreams and stories, there are also times when you can hold me in your arms for hours without a word passing between us. And neither of us minds. The feeling of skin touching, of your chest rising and falling with each breath, of your hand touching me intimately- it needs so words, no narration. We both know that we are happy just as we are. Our silence tells us we're happy. I kept the paper out on the table, reading it again a few times while I ate. I thought of silences that hadn't been so loving. Hannah and I had spent many quiet evenings together during our last few months, some of them just as bottle lady described. Naked in bed, her body against mine, no words passing between us. But for Hannah, it was just that she didn't want to talk. I tried to. I loved her. She liked me. She said I was, "sweet," and "cute," and "nice." We had been together for 2 years- she had moved in after our first time making love. Whenever I tried to move closer, she backed away. I almost proposed once, but she found the ring I had hidden and returned it to the store while I was at work. She would never talk about her past and wouldn't let me talk about the future. I was left only with the present. We lived together, we made love, we did things friends and lovers to together. I wondered if that would be our lifelong arrangement. Many times,we ran out of things to talk about. She would lay silent against me, and I would listen to the sound of our breathing. She wouldn't let me speak of love or marriage or children or tomorrow. "Just enjoy this while we have it," she would say. And though that seemed a little romantic,in a fatalistic way, I found it sad. It wasn't the kind of silence that bottle lady wrote about. It was a silence that shut me out. She would try to chase away that melancholy by sliding down my body and taking me in her mouth. And being only human, I would never object. Her talents were...incomparable. She could make me forget- for a while, at least, that she was only giving me her body and her time- nothing else. When we made love, she would kiss me to stop me from telling her how I felt. When I had finished spending myself inside her, she would hop up and walk away before I could catch my breath and speak tenderly to her. I wished I could know the kind of silence described in that note. I read it over again, then put it back in its bottle and took it to the garage. I looked at the box and debated opening all the bottles- a collection that had nearly reached two dozen. What else would I do with them? Return them? I was pretty sure that wouldn't go over well. And yet I just couldn't open them. It was irrational, I knew. I had already opened three of them, why not the rest? But it still felt wrong. I was sure that, if she ever knew, it would hurt her. ******* The next Saturday, she was alone again. After her usual ritual of staring and tossing, she walked my direction. I tried not to look at her until I knew she was walking towards me. I looked up at her face once she was only a few steps away. She was much prettier than I had thought. Her hair was held back in a loose ponytail and she was wearing a sweater over her dress. It only partially concealed her chesty curves. She was smiling, and her arms were wrapped around her body, as usual, sandals in hand. From that distance, I could also see that her toenails were painted a nice sky blue. "Hey, I'm sorry about last week. My friend usually watches my kids for me, but she was sick. I hope Randy didn't disturb you." She had a sweet voice with a hint of a Southern accent. I had only heard her using her mom voice the week before. When she didn't have to raise her voice, it was melodious. "He was fine," I said nonchalantly. "I didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't actually fishing." She smiled and said, "Well, you know what the say..." I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows, indicating that I did not know what they say. "There's a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore looking like an idiot." It took me a few seconds...OK, more than a few...to get it. But once I did, my laughter was genuine and hearty. I hadn't heard a good joke in a while. "Well, maybe next time he can hold my line for a few minutes, just to spare him that fate." "Oh, you don't need to do that. I'm just glad he didn't get into any trouble. He can be a handful." "He's a young boy. Aren't they all that way?" "Maybe. But a handful can be overwhelming once you run out of hands," she said wistfully, looking out to the water again. Then, changing her tone again, she said, "Anyway, thanks for being kind to him." "No problem, ma'am." "Macy. I'm Macy." She started to extend her hand as if to shake mine, but then lifted it up into a little wave. "Ernst...Just call me Ernie." "OK. See you next week, Ernie." She walked down the pier, and I glanced back a few times, admiring her form. I was glad she didn't turn around and catch me looking- I was pretty sure that would have been awkward. I stayed out a little later than usual, enjoying one of the last warmer evenings of the season. I picked up the bottle on my way out, and once I got home, I held it in my hand for a few minutes, looking through the glass. I forced myself to take it, unmolested, to the box. ****** The next week, she walked over to me again, just after throwing her bottle. I was surprised and pleased. Even if there was nothing more to it than a little conversation, I enjoyed hearing her voice and seeing her up close. She was a little out of my league, perhaps, but if she didn't mind, I wasn't complaining. "Do you mind a little company?" she asked, leaning on the railing near me and facing the sunset. "Not at all." "I mean, if you'd rather...I could just..." she moved her finger a little in the direction she had just come from. In answer, I reached down next to my bag and picked up a second folding stool. Putting it a little stretch away, but still next to me, I said, "Have a seat, if you like." To be honest, I preferred the view of her standing, since she was just in front of me and I could get away with admiring as much of her body as her dress and the wind would allow, but I figured a seat would be polite, and it would make clear that I really was OK with the company. "Oh! Have you...always had that?" "Just today. Just in case." She sat down with a smile and said a sincere, "Well, thank you." She didn't say anything for a while, and neither did I. I remembered what she had written about silence, though it didn't really apply to us. I wasn't exactly 'touching her intimately' or whatever. But being comfortable with silence is, I think, a good thing. As the last sliver of the sun disappeared, she asked softly, "What do you see when you look out there?" I wasn't sure how to answer. I opted for painful honesty. "I see vastness. I see how big it all is. It reminds me how small I am. Problems don't matter as much when you are looking at something that big." She straightened up a little and looked at me. "Surprised?" I asked. "I was expecting something about fish, I guess." I chuckled and reeled in my line. It only took a few seconds before the hook was in view. A bare hook. "Where's your bait?" she asked. "I don't fish," I said. "I just come here to think. This is all just...props." "OK, that's weird." "Let me ask you this, then," I said, dropping my line back into the water. "If you had shown up here and seen me just sitting and staring...every week...what would you have thought." She rolled her eyes up a bit and moved her head around slightly. "Yeah, I would have been a little creeped out." Bottles "Would you have felt comfortable being here alone with me...if all I did was just sit or stand, staring at the water?" "That's so odd. No, I wouldn't have." "But if I'm just fishing..." "Then it looks totally normal. Wow. I...I don't know if I'm impressed or weirded out." I laughed a little at that remark. "But why not fish. I mean, you're here anyway." "I tried for a while, but I don't know anything about fishing. I spent months dropping my line with a worm or minnow on the hook. I spent a lot of money on bait, never caught a thing, and came home with smelly hands. It just wasn't worth it. All I really wanted to do was sit and watch the water. And since I'm not a pretty lady, I can't get away with that unless I have props to make me look safe." "Oh, and you think a pretty lady could get away with it?" Her voice was playful. "I see you do it every week." "And you don't think I'm dangerous?" "As long as you don't hit me with one of those bottles, I think you're fairly harmless." At the mention of the bottles, she abruptly turned her head back towards the horizon and remained silent for a minute, resting her chin on her hand. Then she said, "Well, as long as you keep up your harmless fisherman routine, I won't be forced to throw a bottle at you." "It's a deal," I said. I expected her to leave, but she sat there for a while, until a few stars were making their nightly appearance over the water. I was about ready to leave, but I didn't want her to see me get the bottle, so I waited. Finally, she sighed and said, "Emily...my daughter...she gets nervous if I stay out while it's dark, so..." "See you next week," I said, not taking my eyes off the water. "Have a good evening, Ernie." ******* Love isn't blind- not real love. Love says I take you, lumps and all. Love says you don't have to worry about rejection. It's a preemptive acceptance. So the lovers never need to hide their flaws. And they don't need to be afraid of what happens when someone sheds light on those dark corners of their life. "Perfect love drives out fear." You would know me. You would know my flaws and my sins, my mistakes and my ugly parts. And you would love me in spite of all that. And I would love you the same. Love doesn't say, "I love you so you don't need to change," or "I'll love you after you change," or even "I'll love you because you'll change." Love says, "I will love you while you change- I love who you are and who you will be." I couldn't resist another look. After our conversation, I wanted to know her better. I didn't even wait until I got home to open that day's bottle and read the note. I wished I hadn't. The guilt of reading her notes was one thing, but this one struck home. I remembered Hannah, sweaty underneath me. I worked nights, so early mornings were our time together. She was pushing her hips up to meet my thrusts, her eyes wild with lust. As I got close, she pushed up on my chest with both hands. "Gimme some room!" she gasped. I straightened up as much as I could, letting her work her fingers between us. I held myself inside her as she rubbed herself the rest of the way to one last cum for the morning. She winced and cursed and trembled as she went over that edge. She rubbed her hands along her body as she writhed on the bed. Once her hands were out of the way, I resumed my position on top of her and quickly drove myself to a very satisfying completion. As I pulsed inside her, I moaned and said something about my love for her. She rubbed my back and indulged me a minute of recovery. Then as she got up to get dressed. She said very nonchalantly, "You've changed, Ern. I don't think this is what I want anymore. I mean, you're nice and all, but...I think I just need to move on." She had said it so simply, in such a matter-of-fact way. It was almost like she was talking about getting a new phone, or something. I tried to ask her what she meant, but she just shrugged. "I don't know. I liked what we had at first, but you're different now and I don't think it's working for me." I was stunned...but not surprised, if that makes sense. She had always been distant- that was my frustration with her. But a few days later, she made that emotional distance a physical one, too. She packed up the few things she had brought into our relationship 2 years earlier and left. She wasn't angry or upset or even the slightest bit sad. "Don't take it too hard, Ern," she had said to me as she made a sandwich for the road. "You're a great guy. You're just not my type of guy. I'm surprised you put up with me this long. Guess the sex was really good for you, huh?" She had said that last bit with a mouthful of food as she walked out the door. "Take care!" I hadn't tried to talk her out of it. Part of me didn't want her to go, but I knew it wasn't going to work. Hope had faded so gradually that I hadn't realized how far gone it was. I had thought she would change, I had thought the fireworks of our early days would transform into the warm glow of a loving relationship. It never happened. And once I realized that she didn't even want that, it was easy to let her go. Well, easy to let her leave. I never let her go. I never let the idea of her go. In my more sober moments, I knew that I wasn't remembering and pining after her as she really was. Instead, I was putting her face on an idealized woman- pining after a true love and putting Hannah's face on it. I had walked the four blocks to my house without seeing the world around me, letting my body's memory guide my steps. I put the bottle in the garage and started dinner. I wanted another week to fly by so I could talk to Macy again. And I wondered if that evening had been a fluke and if she would even talk to me again the next week. ******* We did talk the next week. And the week after. And every Saturday evening after that. A few times she brought her kids with her, and Randy got the chance to actually "fish" (though still without bait). Emily was shy around me, but when I spotted a sea turtle surfacing nearby, she ran over next to me and let me point it out. We watched with wonder as its huge shell came in and out of view. But once it was out of sight, Emily ran back to her mom and looked at me only shyly. Randy, not one to let his sister get away so easily, said, "My sister thinks you look like Jesus." I smiled and tried not to look over at Emily. "It's the hat, isn't it?" I said. Randy turned and looked at me like I was an idiot. "No. It's the beard." Apparently, 8-year-olds don't get my humor... Over the weeks, I learned that Macy was alone with her kids and that her friend would watch them every Saturday for a couple hours so she could get out. Her friend used to have Fridays off, so for a year before we met, Macy would be out there on Friday evenings and I would be out there on Saturdays. We both seemed to find that funny for some reason. I told her about my job as a night watchman at a lab in town. I told her a little about my folks in the Midwest. There wasn't much else to tell- I worked and I went home, coming out to the pier to think on my night off. I didn't have the courage to ask about the bottles. Macy, however, brought it up on a chilly December evening. We were in Florida, so it wasn't frigid, but it was cold enough to make me wish we were sitting closer, touching, sharing warmth. I did, however, brink a blanket for her, which she appreciated. We sat quietly for a little while, as we sometimes did, then she said, "Ernie, you never ask about the bottles." My heart skipped a beat and several thoughts rushed to my head. Should I have asked? Did it look suspicious that I haven't? Was she going to tell me everything? Did she suspect I had read them? "Thanks for not asking." "Well, I figured it was personal. You'd tell me if you felt like it." "Are you curious?" I smiled. "Ravenously." She laughed at that. Then she sighed and looked out at the water again. "Some people write in a diary or on a blog. I just write some thoughts and throw them to the sea." "Do you want someone to find them?" "Oh, it doesn't matter. I expect it they would end up far away, and no one would know who wrote them or why." "Why do you write them?" She didn't answer at first. Her eyes wandered from the sunset to her toes, then back again. "I write my dreams...my heart's desires. Things I can't say to anyone else. I figure the waves can keep my secrets." I winced a little at that, thankful she wasn't looking at me when she said it. She straightened up on the folding stool and wrapped the blanket a little more tightly around her shoulders. "Well, now you know the mystery of what I'm doing here," she said with a smile. Shaking my fishing rod a little, I said, "And you know my secret, too." She laughed and said, "You know, you really do look the part. The beard, the hat, the eyes..." "The eyes?" She blushed a little, then said, "Yeah, the eyes. They're this deep blue- like when I look at your eyes, I see past them and right back into the sea. It's...it's...I don't know," and she looked away, clutching the blanket. I decided to venture a question. "Macy, is...is he out there?" I pointed towards the water with a nod of my head. "Randy and Emily's father, I mean?" That question earned me a long, thoughtful gaze. She looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. I felt like she could stand up, slap me and walk away or lean in and kiss me- neither would have seemed out of place. Turning her eyes back to the horizon, she answered me. "Yes. Sort of. He went out there..." she nodded her head towards the water, "...with the army. He never came back." "Oh, Macy, I'm sorry. Did he...die in the war?" A look of disgust crossed her face. "We should have been so lucky. But no. He left to fight, then after his time was up, he came back long enough to pack up a few things and leave. Left us everything in the divorce if I didn't fight it, hasn't come back since." "Bastard," I offered. "Yeah. I know I should forgive him, but it was just..." she shook her head and growled. "How long...?" "Four years. Emily was born while he was away. He didn't even want to meet her when he came back. I got the impression that our marriage had been over long before that." "Bastard," I said again, not sure what else could be said. "Yeah. So no, the bottle aren't for him. Maybe...maybe they're for who he should have been...I don't know...that doesn't even make sense..." She shook her head and chuckled. I think she realized her last comment was more revealing than she had intended. "It's OK," I said. "Most things don't." "Most things don't what?" "Make sense." ******* "You owe me a story." It was a week after Macy had shared about the bottles and her ex-husband. She took me by surprise, walking up behind me almost an hour earlier than she usually arrived. "Huh?" "Your story- why you need to look at the sea and pretend to fish. What problems you're trying to make feel small." "Oh, that's...that's only fair, I guess." I really didn't want to talk about Hannah, but I also didn't want to hurt Macy. "It's really nothing...I mean, compared to your story..." "I wanna know, OK Ernie?" I ventured a long look at her. Most weeks, I avoided looking at her- I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But when she said that, I found her eyes and tried to see what was there. I expected courtesy, kindness, friendliness. I saw more. Not lust or even love, per se, but a genuine presence. She was there, she was sincere, and she was listening. How long since a woman had listened to me? Three years since Hannah had left, two years with Hannah, how long before that? OK, so that wasn't entirely true. I had friends- married friends. Chester, Marcus, Leon- we were good friends, the kind you could run to when your world fell apart. But they were married, and their wives were (for the most part) wonderful women and good friends to me. And sometimes, when a group of us would be together, talking, one of them would look me in the eyes and really listen. But I also knew that many times I saw pity in those eyes- pity and a scheming plan to set me up with one of their friends who was likewise unlucky in love. But that was different. It's hard to say why. There's a difference between a married woman listening out of friendship and an available woman listening out of...out of a different kind of connection, whatever it may be. Maybe it's that, with Macy, there was no predefined limit to our relationship. Potential- that was the word I was looking for. However unlikely, there was at least potential for more. You knew, when a woman was really listening to you, that on at least a subconscious level she was evaluating you as a potential partner. And it was nice to at least be considered. I don't know how long my eyes held that gaze as I thought through those things, probably only a few seconds. Apparently not enough for Macy to get uncomfortable. I wasn't sure what she had just said- it was already buried under piles of other thoughts- but I figured I could get away with a simple, "Well, OK then..." I told her about Hannah. I told her more than I intended to. I told her about always wanting to move towards her but never feeling welcome. I told her about my friends starting to warn me that I was going to be waiting in vain for Hannah to become what I wanted. I told her about the flippant and abrupt end to our relationship. I told her about feeling used- like I had just served a function for 2 years and then been tossed aside when I failed to serve that purpose. I told her about my friends and their wives and how our 13 year tradition of Saturday evening guy's time evolved into a couple's night, where I was welcome but out of place. I told her about feeling like every available woman my age was a jaded opportunist, too scarred to give love a shot. I stopped when I started to feel I had tried her patience in going on and on. "Sorry, one thought just led to another, and...you know..." "No...it's fine. I asked. And I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to share." "Thanks, but maybe I should answer in smaller doses next time." "Well, I'm sure it's been a while since you could really...talk." "Yeah, it has. Thanks for listening. The waves usually don't let me get a word in." She smiled, and seeing her face like that made me want to keep her smiling. Then she said, "I guess when you're that big, you don't need to worry about manners." She paused, then with a more serious tone asked, "Does it work?" "Does what work?" "What you said a while back...about the sea making your problems seem smaller. Does it work?" I thought about that for a while. "Nah. Not yet, anyway. But I don't have any better ideas." "Me either," she said softly. Long after dark, I walked her to the end of the pier and to her car. Once she drove off, I trotted back to the sand and got the bottle. ******* We didn't talk too much after that. It was like we had said everything that needed to be said for now. Macy would stand about 10 yards away from me, leaning over the rail. Then, week after week, she would hurl the bottle out to the sea, walk over to me, and sit down. She always took the stool and the blanket I offered her. We would chit-chat about small things- the weather, her kids, stories that came to mind. It was nice. I wanted more, but I also didn't want to mess things up. She obviously had some hard things to deal with, and I didn't want to complicate that. One Saturday in early January, I was sipping hot chocolate from a thermos. I had brought an extra one. At the sound of footsteps behind me, I picked up the extra stool and set it up. But rather than heading to the railing on the far side, the footsteps came straight up to me. A young woman in a warm coat stood just next to me- I didn't recognize her. I smiled, nodded, and looked back out to the sea. She said, "Macy's sick today. I thought you should know." I turned my head sharply and looked up. The woman looked at me intently, without an expression on her face, her hands in her pockets. "Sick?" "Well, not...like...sick. She's just got a cold. But she's not coming today. I figured you might want to know. You're Ernie, right?" "Yeah. Is she...I mean, does she need anything?" The woman smiled for the first time, "Oh, you're just too sweet." It felt a little condescending, but I was used to that. "She's fine. I'm going back there to help with the kids. I'm Denise...Macy's friend. She doesn't know I'm here." "Oh. Well, tell her I hope she feels better soon. You can...if you want you can bring the kids out here. I can help entertain them." "I'm sure you could." Under her constant gaze, I couldn't help but feel like I was being evaluated. "Why aren't you using any bait?" "Huh?" I figured Macy had told her about that, but I was still thrown off. "Randy talks about fishing with you, but when I ask him about worms, he doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about. I did enough fishing with my dad growing up that I know you don't have any bait around here- unless it's in that extra thermos." God, what was with this woman? I looked at the thermos. "Just an extra hot chocolate," I explained. She looked at it, looked at the stool and blanket, then looked at me and raised her eyebrows, asking a wordless question that I didn't understand. After a minute of silence I realized I hadn't answered her question about bait. "I'm just here to think and to watch the waves. The fishing pole keeps my hands busy and makes me look..." "Less pathetic?" she offered. "I was going to say less threatening, but you're probably right." "I'm sorry, it's just...a guy your age, sitting on the pier every week, pretending to fish? It's kinda weird." "No more weird than a woman coming out here throwing bottles into the ocean every week," I countered. "Throwing what?" She looked at me in confusion. "Nevermind. It's nothing. It's just...I see lots of things out her over the years. It's a stupid metaphor." Not a great recovery, but enough to forestall any more questions. The woman narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, looking ready to say something else to me. But after a few awkward moments, she dropped her hands to her sides and said, "Well, I'm going back to Macy and the kids. You just...be good, OK? Keep...being nice." Not sure how to respond to that odd farewell, I simply said, "OK...you too." As she walked away, I wondered why Macy hadn't told her about the bottles. More specifically, I wondered why she had told me. I felt the conflicting urge to run home and read all the notes and at the same time to lock them away for no one to see. After giving Denise enough time to be well on her way, I packed up my stuff and left before the sun even set. I glanced under the pier on my way past it, knowing there would be no bottle but checking anyway. I sat on the step going down into the garage after I got home. I sat there and stared at the cardboard box filled with glass bottles. I thought for a long time, a beer in my hand. I ignored the complaints of my hungry stomach, not wanting to lose the thoughts I was pulling together. It was inevitable, really, probably since the moment she said "Hi" to me. I passed it off as curiosity for a while, then as courtesy, and then as friendliness. But there was no mistaking the feeling of wanting to be with someone. She fascinated me, she drew me in. I wanted to know her better. I wanted to earn the right to sit quietly next to her on a chilly evening with my arm around her. I wanted to be the one to make her feel special and beautiful and safe. I wanted her to smile when she thought of me. Bottles I knew it was a long shot. I knew I didn't really have much to offer. I had a boring job, a boring life. I worked, I read, I watched TV, I slept. Once a week I pretended to fish. I was about as appealing to women as my baitless hook was to the fish under the pier. But bait or no bait, I decided to at least cast my line...just this once. ******* The next Saturday, I got there extra early, just to make sure I was the first one there. I brought a small folding table and put a simple white tablecloth over it, setting up two folding chairs beside it. I set out some dinnerware and had a nice meal for two kept warm in a bag next to me. It was corny, I knew, but that was my style. If she didn't like that...well, I just hoped I wouldn't scare her. I had put a nice sweater over my usual outfit- not wanting to overdress, since she wouldn't be expecting this anyway. The flowery centerpiece kept getting blown over by the sea breeze, so I put it back in my bag. She showed up a little earlier than usual, making me glad I had come all the earlier. I was sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other, looking out at the waves. I was so lost in thought that I didn't hear her walking up, and I was startled when she said, "What, no candles?" I hopped up from my seat and turned to face her, explaining, "I didn't think the wind would cooperate." She nodded her head in understanding. "Aannnd...I wondered if candles might be a bit to much." She laughed softly, still looking around at the set up. "So...are you expecting someone?" That wasn't exactly the response I was hoping for, but I managed a friendly smile and said, "Just you." That earned me a giddy smile as she answered, "I was hoping that, but...I didn't want to presume..." As she was saying that, I pulled her chair out so she could sit down. I saw her put the bottle on the ground next to her chair. I fetched a blanket, which wasn't even necessary at that point. The weather was mild, for which I was thankful. I pulled out the food and served us both. Macy had a big, undecipherable smile the whole time. She watched my hands as they served the food and poured some wine. We had two weeks worth of chit-chat to catch up on. We shared stories from work, stories about her kids, we talked about the food and dishes we liked. It didn't feel like a date...it felt more like what I imagined dinner between a comfortable married couple would be like. When Macy had finished her second helpings and as I was sopping up tomato sauce with a piece of bread, she cleared her throat and said, "Ernie, can I ask...why? Why...this?" "Would saying 'Why not?' get me out of really answering?" "She gave me a pretend angry look and said firmly, "No." "Well then, I guess...I wanted to. I wanted to have dinner with you, and I hoped you would indulge me. Maybe surprising you was a little cowardly, since it spared me from having to ask you earlier...but, well...there it is. I wanted to. I wanted to have a few special moments with you." I think I held my breath while I waited to see how she would respond. She cleared her throat again and shifted in her seat, looking to the side. Finally, she spoke, in a voice that betrayed a strong emotion. "Ern, that's...that's so good to hear." With that, she looked at me, and her eyes seemed at once sad and happy. "So good. It...it's been a long time since I felt wanted." I spoke softly, unsure how to not ruin the moment. "I find that...hard to believe." She smiled and nodded, gazing out at the waves. She wiped her eyes with a napkin, which she then clutched in her hand. "No, Ernie...I'm serious. To feel like you're not just another face in the crowd or just another...body to look at...to feel like someone wants to spend time with you. That's...everyone needs that. I need that." She stood up from the table. Out of habit, I stood, too. She walked to the rail and asked me to join her. "Bring my bottle, please." Once I was standing next to her, she took the bottle from my hand and pulled the cork out. Emptying the paper into my hand, she asked me to read it. Trembling, I unfolded the little slip and read: Whether in the same room or across the world, you want to be with me. Even a crowd feels lonely to you without me. How is it that two empty cups can fill each other full? And yet I show up feeling empty and you say I make you full. That's how I know what we have is right. I looked up at Macy, who was crying, looking at the last purple hints of the where the sun had set. "Macy...?" "I don't know..." she whispered, shaking her head and answering a question no one had asked. I didn't want to be taking advantage of her. It seemed like dinner on Saturday, when she was obviously more vulnerable, might have been a bad idea. "Macy, I'm worried you..." She turned abruptly when I began speaking, then moved in to kiss me. After a few second she pulled away and asked, "can you worry later...after we kiss?" I shook my head eagerly, "Yeah...Yeah, sure." ******* I took the bottle home at Macy's request. She didn't realize it would be joining so many others. I almost started popping corks that night, feeling like I had permission to read. But I restrained. The next two weekends, Randy and Emily joined us on the pier, playing games and being as lively as kids can be. Denise (Macy's friend whom I had met earlier) was there, too, smiling from a distance and calling the kids away at sunset so that Macy and I could have a few moments together. Once Denise and the kids were out of sight, Macy and I would kiss and embrace. I would lean back against the rail and she would lean against me, letting me feel her whole body, all her warm softness, pressing against me. She could no doubt feel the effect she had on me, and a small grind of her hips against me seemed to communicate that she was on the same page. Just before she left one evening, I leaned back to get a look at the beautiful woman in my arms and said, "Next Saturday is Valentine's Day, you know." "I know," she smiled. "Do you want to meet somewhere else? Can I take you out?" She got a playful smile and said, "No. Just come here at the usual time. I'll take care of it." "Oh really? Do I need to dress up?" She thought for a minute, then said, "Not super dressy. But...look nice, OK?" "I'll try," I laughed and gave her a kiss. She groaned as she pushed away, pulling me by the hand back down the pier. There had been no bottle since our dinner a few weeks earlier, so I had no reason to linger. ******* I showed up about an hour before sunset- maybe a little earlier than usual, but I was eager to see Macy. I knew it was time we started seeing each other more often than one evening a week. Hopefully much more often. I still felt surprised that she was interested in me, and I worried that my heart was moving faster down the path than hers. If I even half-suspected she was willing, I would have asked her to marry me that night. I didn't see it until I was halfway down the pier- the sun just above the horizon was in my eyes. There was a single bottle on the railing at the end. How it stayed up against the wind, I had no idea. Once I got there, I saw a red ribbon around the neck with the name "Ernst" written on it. I tried to grab the bottle and was surprised to find it stuck to the railing. Apparently a healthy does of super glue was the answer to the mystery of how the bottle stayed on the rail. Eventually, it came off, bringing some shards of wood with it. I pulled out the cork and retrieved the slip of paper from inside. It was an address. ******* I had walked to the pier, so I had to walk back to my house to get the car. I knew the street, or at least the neighborhood- it was a few miles away. I drove there, arriving just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. I barely got off a knock on the door before it swung open. A beaming Macy welcomed me. She wore a purple and black dress and had her hair up- the first time I had seen her that way. The pale skin on her graceful neck looked...kissable. Dinner was on the table (with candlelight, I was amused to note) and a fire was crackling in the living room. Macy directed me to my seat, then served us dinner. It was as good as any meal we could have eaten out that night. Our conversation was light and happy and playful. It was strange to think that this was the first time we had even seen each other indoors, or anywhere other than the pier, for that matter. Dressed as she was, Macy looked older, more mature than I knew her to be. But laughing and moving around lightly as she was, she looked much younger than I had ever seen. After she stopped laughing at a particularly good story she had shared, I asked, "Are you always like this when you get an evening away from the kids?" "Like what?" "Like this...carefree, playful." "No...it's not the kids. It's...it's you, Ernst. Being with you is making me happy. Don't you see that?" "Maybe it's just a bit much to take in." "Well, get used to it, buster." We even had dessert, which Macy suggested we eat on the couch by the fire. She let down her hair as she swayed into the room and onto the couch. With my arm around Macy sitting next to me, my stomach comfortably full, and the sound of the warm fire serenading us, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for a minute. It was, I thought, a perfect moment. "Sleepy?" she asked. I opened my eyes. "Nooo. I work night shifts. This is like afternoon to me. I'm just taking in the moment." "It's nice, isn't it." "Best Valentine's Day ever." "I think so, too," she said, snuggling in close and putting a hand on my chest. "Where are Randy and Emily?" I asked, wondering how much longer we had to enjoy the evening together. "They're at Denise's place, which they love because there is plenty of junk food and no bedtimes." I laughed at the thought. "But then you have the fun job of getting them to sleep after they get home." "Not tonight," she said, fiddling with a button on my shirt. "Hmm?" "They're gone all night...until noon tomorrow." "Oh? Well that's a nice break for you," I said naively, not picking up on her implications. Realizing that, she made her meaning clear. "You can spend the night, Ern...if you want." "The night?" I pulled back in surprise, trying to get a look at her face. She rushed out a response, mistaking my confusion for disinterest. "You don't have to...I mean, I want you to, but...if you think...I know I'm not...I'm sorry, it's just that it's Valentine's Day, and I wanted it to be special and I know that you don't know me that well yet, but I had hoped that..." Kissing her was the only way I could think of to tell her what I thought of her excuses. When we stopped to catch our breath, Macy was crying. I wasn't used to this. Hannah had never been emotional around me- I sometimes had wondered if she even had feelings at all. So when Macy started crying, I said, "I'm...sorry?" "No...it's...it's not you. I'm just scared. Scared by how much I want you right now, and scared that you'll be disappointed or that you don't feel the same way." "Why do you think I'll be disappointed?" "I know I'm not, like, some sexy young thing. I mean, come on, I've got two kids, I'm getting older, I'm not in shape...I've been just trying to hold my life together for a few years now. And at first I thought I would get my act together and get skinny and fashionable and meet some guys and forget about...about him. But it was so hard to just make ends meet and be a half-decent mom and...and I don't want to say I just gave up, but...taking care of myself wasn't a priority..." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But she wasn't done and I just ran my fingers through her soft hair as she went on. "I think I always thought that some day I'd get back out there...on my own terms...but then it started to seem more and more like just a fantasy. And then I wasn't expecting to meet you and you kind of snuck in there before I could go back and give you a better impression. And then you made dinner and we kissed and my kids like you and I just wished I could be better for you and..." "Whoa, girl...I think you're going to hyperventilate or something. That...that's a lot of sentences." She put her head down on my chest and sighed. "Do you think I'm crazy?" I laughed, making her head bounce on my chest. "No...not crazy. I just think we're quite a pair. Here I am thinking you're so beautiful and kind and strong and that you've got to be way out of my league. Because I'm just a boring guy who can't even fish for a hobby. And you've been going around thinking I'm not impressed enough?" "Are you just trying to be nice?" she said, her voice sad. "Apparently that's something I'm good at, for better or worse. But no, I'm not just saying that. I...well, I guess I should say that I love you...if that's not going to freak you out." She stiffened in my arms. "Do you mean that?" "Yeah, Macy, I do. But that's really hard for me to say, because last time I felt this away about someone, she pushed me away and belittled my feelings. Instead of finding someone else, I stayed with her and just learned how to bottle that feeling up. It..." I sighed, finding it somehow hard to talk about. "It's been a long time since I felt like someone would want to be loved by me." She chuckled and said, "Well we really are quite a pair, then. We're both bottling everything up, only I'm doing it with actual bottles!" I hadn't intended that comparison, but I realized how appropriate it was, and we enjoyed a refreshing, cathartic laugh together. Once that died down, we were quiet for a minute, looking at the fire together. Then in a soft voice, Macy said, "I love you, too, you know." My heart swelled at that simple phrase. It had been such a long time since someone had said that to me. I squeezed her close and buried my face in her auburn mane. "Will you stay?" she asked. Knowing her history, it was hard not to hear all the insecurity and hope that could fit into those few words. "For as long as you'll let me," I promised. We were quiet for a few more minutes, then Macy said, "I meant for the night." "That too," I said, rubbing slowly up her arm. Macy twisted around until she was on top of me. We kissed gently, lightly, nervously. A kiss that, for the first time, was a prelude to more. "Sooo..." she said. "Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Feeling as awkward as if it was my first time, I said, "The bedroom's fine with me." "Because we could stay out here if you think that would be better." She was looking at me with such expectation, such...fragility...like she wanted everything to be just how I wanted it. Like she was afraid even now that I would reject her. I knew Hannah had really messed with my head, but I was seeing now that mine wasn't the only heart that needed to be reprogrammed. "Macy...I just want to be with you. It doesn't matter to me...what the details are. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be very, very happy." That seemed to be the right thing to say. She smiled and said, "Let's go to bed." ******* When we got to her room we had several false starts. Kiss first, or undress? Lie down on the bed, sit on the bed, or stand? It was a bumbling, slightly awkward, beautiful time. I helped her get her arms out of her dress, but she hesitated to take it the rest of the way off. She looked at me, looked at the bed, then looked at the light switch, holding her dress to her body. I stepped forward and kissed her again. As we kissed, I took her hands and pulled them out, letting the dress fall. Pulling her close to me, I rubbed my hands up and down her naked sides, enjoying the softness of her skin. Once we were both down to only our underwear, we sat on the bed and continued kissing. Our hands roamed through new and exciting territory on each other's bodies. She paused for a moment and said, "I'd really rather turn the light off." "Will you let me watch you walk to the switch?" She swatted my shoulder as she got up. "No. Close your eyes." She trotted over to the light switch, and I watched every bounce of her beautiful body. There was a nightlight in the room, just bright enough that I could still see her when she climbed back on the bed. She chided me, "You weren't supposed to watch." "I regret nothing," I teased. "Ugh...I'm just...I wish I was a lot thinner." "I don't know what you're talking about. You have a very healthy, beautiful, touchable, lovable body." As I said that, she was reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra. Tossing it to the floor, she took my hand and put it on her breast. We both gasped at the contact. Hannah had been very thin and had small breasts. She was beautiful in her own way- lithe and leggy and confident. It had been a long time since I had felt breasts that were full and heavy, breasts that I couldn't contain in one hand. I leaned in and kissed the crevice between them, moving my kissed around towards her aureole. Macy's breathing was heavy. She gently pulled my head back and asked, "Do you want me to...use my mouth?" "Only if that's what you really want to do right now," I panted, not sure I wanted to delay the moment when I was inside her. "Really? You're sure?" she asked, skeptically. "Another time, love. I want your lips on mine right now." She gave me a kiss, then backed away, casting her eyes down. "This is all just really different, you know. This...isn't what I'm used to." "Just do what you want, do what feels good." "That's what I'm not used to." I pulled back and tried to get a look at her face. Another conversation for another time, I decided. I tried not to be angry and the man in her past who had failed to let sex be an expression of love. "Do you want me to use my mouth?" I asked, guessing that she hadn't experienced that before. "Oh...Oh God...that's...that would be new. Yes? But not now? Can I get a rain check?" "Absolutely," I said, guiding us onto our sides. I slipped my hands under her panties, taking a hold of her round cheeks. Continuing to push down, I helped her get her panties off. Feeling my excitement become urgent, I pulled down my own underwear, then put my hand on her mound. With one finger, I slipped between her folds. She was wet, and as I touched her entrance, she gasped in my ear. "I'm ready...I've been ready," she whispered. With that, she rolled onto her back and spread her legs. "Go ahead." I eagerly got between her legs and used my hand to get my tip nestled into her folds. Finding her entrance, I ran my hand up her body, along her breasts and to her face. "Ready?" Macy winced and nodded. I slowly pushed into her. She was tight but wet, and it only took a few gentle pushes to get us fully joined. Macy was still wincing, but once I sighed and wrapped my arms around her, she opened one eye and looked at me. I kissed her gently, and she softened a bit. I began moving slowly in and out, not wanting to break contact with her full, warm lips. Our tongues touched briefly once, then again. After a few minutes of that gentle rocking, after those first exploratory thrusts, she put her lips by my ear and said, "You can go ahead, I'm ready." Not really catching her meaning, I asked, "Go ahead and what?" Her chest arched up with each slow thrust and as I waited for her answer, I took a nipple in my mouth, teasing it to stiffness. Macy took a few deep breaths and said, "Ready to...you know...start. To do your thing." I propped myself up over her to get a look at her face. I was really confused. "You know I'm inside you, right?" I flexed my penis a few times for emphasis. "Well, yeah. That's kind of hard to miss," she said with a smile, squeezing me back a few times. Bottles "And I'm...moving...inside you," I continued, slowly thrusting until she smiled. "Uh-huh. And it feels...really nice," she responded, closing her eyes for a moment while I slid in and out of her warmth. "Is there something else I'm supposed to be doing? 'Cause...that's all I've got." She rolled her eyes up, thinking. "Well, don't you need to...move real fast and push real hard? I've been bracing for you to start. That's what I mean when I say I'm ready." I froze. Pulling out of her, I moved back until I was kneeling. She looked hurt for a moment, but I put my hands gently on her thighs. "Macy, do you mean to tell me that every time you've had sex, it's been like that?" She nodded her head, looking at me with curious eyes. "And do you...like that?" "Not really. I like what we were just doing, but that's only the first part. After that, it's just uncomfortable, but that's what a guy needs...right?" "Oh...Oh, God no. Is your husband...you ex-husband...was he your first?" Macy sat up and crossed her legs. "Yes. We married pretty young- high school sweethearts, that whole thing." My heart just broke for her in that moment. Well, I figured, I guess there's no time like Valentine's Day to learn how to make love. "Macy, that's not what sex has to be like. Always having sex like that is like...like always eating pizza. Sure, you could survive, but it's not what you want all the time. And not everybody likes it. And it's not even healthy. God, what...how did you put up with that?" I think I stepped over a line, because she started to cry again, wrapping her arms around her breasts. "I didn't know. That's just how it was. I thought...I mean, no one ever talked about it. And he was happy, I thought. And the...the porn he watched was like that, so I thought it was just...that sex was like that." I pulled her to me, holding her against my chest as she cried. "Would he try to have sex just like it was in those videos?" "He would. But I said no to some things, and he would get frustrated. But he would talk like they did, and want me to act like that. And I just can't do it...and I know he was so disappointed and wanted someone that could be like that." I didn't even try to hold back my anger. In my heart I hated him, and I imagined wonderfully poetic justice punishing him in cruel ways. I held Macy as she sobbed. "He's going to be very disappointed, Macy, because no one is really like that...well, almost no one. That's not what sex is like." Then I stifled a laugh, because it felt inappropriate. It had occurred to me that Macy's ex-husband might have been a good match for Hannah. I kept that thought to myself, though. "You know those women in those videos are just acting, right?" "Yeah...but..." "It's all acting. Don't feel bad if you're not enjoying it like they pretend to." Then she actually laughed. "I did feel a little jealous though. I mean, they really seem to enjoy it." I smiled at that, and then another thought occurred to me. "Macy, have you ever...cum...during sex?" "No," she said softly. "Not for real, at least. But I've helped myself...do that...alone." "Well, I hope we can change that. Maybe not tonight, but with a little practice..." I lay back down on the bed, this time on my back. I pulled her along with me, and she knew to straddle me. As she started pushing herself back down onto my cock, I said, "OK, babe, the rule is, you try to find what feels good to you and just do that, OK?" "But you..." "I'll be fine. I promise. You have no idea how good every moment feels when I'm inside you." She sighed once she had me all the way in, then sat still. "You OK?" I asked. "Just...enjoying the feeling. The fullness. That's you in there," she said, squeezing around my member. I groaned and put my hands on her hips. "Maybe you should try doing whatever it is you do when you're by yourself...if you can," I suggested. She didn't move for a few moments, then I felt her hand start moving slowly around where we were joined. I grit my teeth and fought the urge to push up. After a few minutes, Macy began a slow, tentative back and forth motion with her hips. I spoke softly to her, "Hey beautiful, the other rule is that if there's anything you want me to do, you have to tell me. Tell me to touch you or kiss you or whatever you want. I want to do it." Her eyes closed and her lips parted, she whispered a simple, "OK," but otherwise continued as she was. I moved my hands from her hips down along her thighs and then back up. I kept up that slow motion until, after a few minutes, she whispered, "My belly, touch my belly." I happily complied, rubbing slowly around in circles. Her breathing sped up, as did her hip motions. The corner of her lips turned up in a smile. One hand moved faster along her clit and the other one was flat on my chest, supporting her weight. "Can you move just a little?" she asked in a rushed whisper. "Just a little bit in and out?" I responded with very small thrusts- much less than I wanted, but enough to bring myself a little pleasure. Suddenly, Macy leaned farther forward and whispered a prolonged, "oooooohhhh," that soon ceased to be a whisper. I felt her walls clench around me, and she instinctively pulled off a little. My hand on her hip guided her back down, and she gasped. She came quietly, but intensely, judging by the expression on her face. Midway through her orgasm, she stopped rubbing herself and just lay down on top of me. I rubbed along her sides and across her back, kissing the cheek she had put in front of me. As she caught her breath, she whispered, "So that was basically like masturbating with some help, I guess." "That," I corrected her, "was sex. Or I prefer to say making love. But in any case, that's it." "Sooo much better than a box of chocolates." "Huh?" She lifted her head and looked at me. "I was a little sad that you hadn't gotten me anything for Valentine's Day. Like a box of chocolates or flowers or something." My eyes widened when I realized I had completely forgotten to think of that. "It's OK," she said dismissively, "because this was waaaay better. You are forgiven. And I am in your debt." So saying, she dropped her head back onto my shoulder. I let her lie still for a few moments, then asked, "Do you want to stay like this while I finish?" "Oh dear! I forgot about you! Ha! You...you just wiped my mind clean there. Ummm...can we...roll over?" I had her on her back in a few seconds. "I just want to feel what it's like to...make love like this. To not have someone just pounding down. Is that OK?" Beginning my thrusts, I kissed her and said, "It's OK if that's what you want. For the record, I really enjoy it like this." My urge at that point was to finish quick, having been denied for a while that evening. But considering the circumstances, I denied that instinct and continued a slow, steady rhythm. I knew it would get me to the same place, it would just take a little longer to get there. We looked into each other's eyes as her chest rose and fell. Eye contact- I had missed that for so long. Hannah didn't want to look at my eyes- it was as if that was the one repulsive part of my body. But Macy couldn't get enough of it, and she held my gaze for all of the five or so minutes that I was pushing into her. At one point, her eyes softened, and she mumbled, "I didn't know. I just never knew it could be like this. I could let you do this to me all day." Shortly after that- and imagining how nice it would be to stay in bed all day, enjoying Macy's body- I felt myself rushing towards release. I broke away from her gaze and rested my face in the pillow. I sped up my thrusts, holding deep for an extra second or two each time. Macy gasped, but not in pain. My hands, which had been holding her shoulders, moved down to her hips and tried to slip under her. I just finally got both hands gripping her bottom when I felt that inevitable spark. Pushing deep, I groaned until I felt my release. With two or three more thrusts, I emptied my essence into her. For a flash, I wondered about protection, but that thought was quickly buried by the sensations of physical pleasure and emotional closeness. I breathed deep as a few last twitches signaled the end of that first time together. Still catching my breath, I felt the need to ask between breaths, "Are you OK?" She smiled and even laughed a little. Patting my back she said, "I'm fine, tiger. Just take it easy." Rolling off her, I leaned back over for a kiss. A kiss that became more kisses, which became a laid-back after-sex make-out session. Macy broke it off to run to the bathroom and clean up. As she crawled back under the covers, she asked, "Are you going to be able to sleep? Isn't your body's clock like...the reverse of mine?" Pulling her into a skin-on-skin embrace, I said, "Not exactly. I usually work until the middle of the night, then go to sleep when I get home. I could probably fall asleep now, though. What we just did...that'll knock me out if I let it." Nuzzling her head into my chest, she closed her eyes and said, "Then let it." ******* I slept very soundly, and when dawn filtered through the blinds in Macy's bedroom, I rubbed my eyes and stretched. When my vision focused enough to look around, I saw Macy next to me, wide awake and smiling, propped up on one arm, looking at me. The sunlight shone through her wild hair, giving it an orange glow. I reached out to caress her cheek with the backs of my fingers, and I said sincerely, "So beautiful." She laughed and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing for a moment, then relaxing. "You're still here," she said, happily. "Of course I am. You'd have to chase me away." She sighed dreamily, then said more seriously, "It won't always be like this, you know." "I know." "It's OK, though. But a night without the kids is...rare." "I'll pay Denise to watch them. I'll pay her well." Macy laughed and kissed my neck, then said, "It's not that. She's happy to watch them. But most nights they'll be here, and there's not a lot of privacy. You may have noticed that I've learned to be pretty quiet when I...you know." "When you cum?" "Yes. Can't let the kids hear that." "It would be awkward, I guess." "Buuuut...we've got until noon...which is 5 hours away. I'd like to see if I can let myself be noisy...just this once..." "That is a fine idea. Do you want to get breakfast first?" "Actually, I do. And wash up. And talk. And kiss. And lots of other things. Five hours won't be enough." "Well let's get started," I said, swinging my feet onto the floor. We spent a delightful morning, talking casually, sharing breakfast, sharing a shower, and slowly making love again. She cashed in her rain check and let herself get a little noisy when my tongue was working between her folds, and again when we spooned together under the sheets. As we were both unwinding from our morning frolic, my spent rod softening inside her, I said, "That was a bit risky last night, putting a bottle out there for anyone to find." "I was watching. You couldn't see me, but I could see you." "What would you have done if someone else got to it before I did?" She thought for a second, then squeezed the arm I had wrapped around her chest and said, "Panicked. Run screaming at them to leave it alone." "What about your other bottles? What if someone found them?" "I don't think I'd mind. There's nothing too embarrassing or even personally identifying in them. It would maybe just brighten some stranger's day. It's a little sad, though. I'm starting to wish I had copied down what I wrote. I wish I could share with you those dreams and hopes, though you're doing a pretty good job starting to fulfill them." I knew I would tell her eventually, but not yet. In the last hour before the kids returned, we lay in bed and talked about the future. We talked about me spending time at her place, letting the kids get used to me. We talked about trying to have Saturday nights to ourselves as often as possible. We talked about taking it slow for the kids' sake. When Denise called us with a "15 minute warning," we reluctantly dressed and got lunch together. "Does she know I spent the night?" "She knew I was probably going to ask you to." "But you didn't tell her..." "She knew that I would've called after you left. No call means...sexy times." "She's OK with this?" "She needs to know you better, but she likes that I'm happy. She's a good friend, Ern, you'll like her." A few minutes later, a tornado of youthful energy swirled into the house, filled with stories and drawings and questions and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I stayed the afternoon, and we went on a walk through the neighborhood. I had to leave for work that evening, but not before promising to be back for lunch the next day. ******* We continued spending Saturday evenings on the pier for all the next year. Usually it was just the two of us, and we'd watch the sunset, hand-in-hand. The kids would sometimes join us, as would Denise, who even taught Randy and I how to really fish. After a month, I told Macy my secret- I brought the first of many bottles with me to the pier. She was a little upset at first but was mostly pacified when I assured her I had only read four of them. Then she was a little embarrassed to learn that the bottles didn't wash away to sea like she had thought. In the end, though, it became our favorite little tradition. I'd bring a different bottle every other week or so, and we'd read the note together. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes I would. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes we didn't need to. We'd walk back to my place, letting the kids could spend the night in their own beds, under Denise's watchful eye. We'd usually make love, slowly reprogramming the broken parts of our pasts. I had to learn that she really wanted to be loved by me, that it was OK to talk about how I felt. And she had to get used to me telling her how beautiful and sexy and wonderful she was. One year later, the Saturday night before Valentine's Day, I brought the table back out to the pier. I set up a heavier floral centerpiece, a nice meal, and one last bottle with a note of my own. As we ate, I told Macy about wanting to move back to the Midwest, a little closer to my aging parents. I told her about a job opportunity at a sister company to my current employer- at a mental health institute. I told her that, if I took the job, they would pay the moving expenses for me and my family. I handed her the bottle and asked her to open it. She pulled out the note, and her eyes widened when she realized that it wasn't one that she had written. It was a simple note, not nearly as eloquent as the ones she used to write. It was a just one question, one that went with the ring I was offering her as I got on one knee next to her. It said, Will you be my family? Macy stood up, threw the bottle into the ocean, and said a tearful but hearty Yes.