::THIRTY SIX::
I’m dying to just wake her up. It’s one of those rare LA mornings where everything’s quiet and for just a moment all you can hear are the birds; you never really hear the birds here. In an hour, probably less, the city will be full of the sounds of cars and traffic and all other sorts of noise, but for right now it’s nice, it’s perfect. Even the sky is clear for a change. I never realized how much I loved the quiet until I was away from here, how often I waited for just this time, when I could hear nothing. We had left the curtains open last night and the rising sun paints the room in a pale gold light. Paints her in that light. I can’t remember the last time I was ever this happy, grinning like a fool when I snuck carefully out of bed. Quietly ordering breakfast and asking about the hotel’s laundry service. They’d have our laundry ready on the day after we left to go back home; as funny as that is, it’ll never do and I’ll have to think of something else. Getting half dressed to answer the door. The kid they’ve got delivering room service this morning didn’t look like he was having a great day but I think my goofy grin is infectious, and he’s smiling begrudgingly by the time he slumps away down the hall.
The smell of coffee and toast makes my mouth water. Did they ever smell that good before? Even her yoghurt smells good; it’s the strawberries I think. She’s still sleeping but not as soundly as before, making a small whimpering noise as she flings her arm out to my side of the bed, searching for me in her sleep. I feel a twinge of sadness, reminded of the morning I had left to get coffee in the morning. Thinking of her reaching out for me. I write her a quick note, and tuck it under her bowl of yoghurt.
Her eyes open wide in surprise, before she breaks into a fit of laughter, squirming underneath me as I dove onto the bed to wake her up. “Wake up, beautiful!” She has me laughing with her, nuzzling her neck and her ears, the sound of her happiness filling the room. Straddling her hips I pin her beneath me, leaning over her. Sweeping her sleep messed hair out of her face. She’s still giggling softly, looking up at me.
“‘Morning Sean.” Her voice is a little sleepy, and sexy, her eyes sparkling up at me. Something happened last night, something changed when I knew, really knew finally, that she loves me back as much as I love her. I had carried death with me for so long, and I’m finally letting it go. She laughs out loud when I pull her up off the bed, all of the blankets falling to the floor. “Let me get dressed first, I…” Her face flushes when she realizes I’m half carrying her out onto the balcony again, still naked. After last night, I can well imagine what she thinks I’m up to. I grin down at her, before tucking her hair behind her ear and going back for a blanket for her. “You’re in a wonderful mood, Sean.”
“I woke up with you, didn’t I?” Her expression, already sweet, softened at that and she blushed a little more. I brought out our coffees and breakfast, and sat behind her, on the very deck chair we made love on the night before, and pulled her to my chest. She lets out a contented sigh, cuddling against me as she reads the note I wrote for her. Just something simple, that I love being with her. It’s hard to eat like this though and she gets up, which had me concerned until she turned and sat facing me, so we could eat together. I’ve never really liked yoghurt, but she fed me strawberries dipped in it and I think I could get to like that. I could get to like that a lot. I piled eggs and bacon onto the toast and made it into a messy sandwich, kissing egg yolk off the corner of her mouth after feeding her a bite. Definitely one of the stranger breakfasts I’ve ever eaten.
We curled up again, her back to my chest the way we like to sit with each other. “What did you want to do today, Sean?” Her voice is lazy and soft, as I stroke absently across her naked belly, underneath the blanket. I told her about the laundry service, and when they would have our laundry finished; she thought it was funny too. I had suggested just going shopping, at which she laughed before shaking her head at me. “Why don’t we just take everything to a laundromat?” It hadn’t even occurred to me, to be honest I didn’t think it’s something she’d really want to do. I’m learning a lot about Jeanette on this vacation, she likes the smaller simpler things; I guess we both do.
There’s something I know I need to do, but now that I’m here I don’t know how to say it. Especially after last night, after the things Candice said to her, I know that I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “I need to…I wanted to…” I don’t know if I’m stalling or I just really don’t know how to start. I let out a deep sigh when she rests her head on my shoulder, just a gentle press before she looks up again, out over the railing, at the beach just up ahead. “I was going to visit Stacy.”
I stopped breathing, everything in me frozen. It’s something I’ve needed to do but now I’m not sure I want to. For Jeanette, not for me. “Do you want me to stay here?” I didn’t expect that. I’m not really sure what I expected, but I know I didn’t expect that.
“No, I want you to come with me.” To meet Stacy. In a way I have already met John, and of course Emily. They’re buried together, in the cemetery at the bottom of my street. I was with her when she told them she was in love. “Will you?” She smiles up at me and leans in to kiss my jaw, giving me all the answer I needed. I don’t know why the thought gives me butterflies, but it does. Jeanette will come with me and sit beside me, and meet Stacy.
Our coffee is cold and forgotten on the small table beside us, as my hand traces over her belly, occasionally making a slow pass through her curls. The heat of the late morning has nothing to do with the heat building between us. “If we don’t go back inside I’m going to have you right here, ‘Nette.” I don’t know if I’m brave enough to repeat last night in the full light of day but if anyone would make me like to try, it’s Jeanette. That nearly silent laughter that shakes her slightly lets me know that she just might let me do it too.
“Shower?” Even her voice is grinning at me, and I don’t think she’s so much talking about the act of showering as she’s talking about a location. She wants to continue this in the shower. I pull the blanket off her and chase her naked into the bathroom. We still haven’t closed the curtains. I stripped quickly and followed her into the shower stall, the water already hot, the bathroom quickly filling with steam.
She’s shy again, for just a moment before her hand reaches out to caress my side, almost willing me under the spray with her. Leaning her head back to wet her hair, the water soaking and seeming to fill it, before it rushes in a torrent down her back. Droplets of water cling to her eyelashes, the water running over her lips, and down the lines of her throat. She blushes a little at the intense scrutiny as my eyes take in every beautiful inch of her but doesn’t cover up. The water follows the path of least resistance as it runs in rivers down her body, following every curve and line, running over my fingers as I trace those lines myself. Her hand runs over me, following rivers of her own.
I drink from her as the water runs over us, cupping the back of her neck and bringing her lips to mine, her eyes closed against the spray. Reaching for the soap to wash her is nearly an afterthought, I could lick her clean and be a happy man. “Not so fast..” Her voice is soft and sexy, just a whisper against my skin, as she takes the soap from me before I can put it back. I reach up to adjust the spray, so the lather won’t wash off all at once. I like this too much, the slick feel of the soap against her skin and her soapy hands running over me. Was this about getting clean? I very much doubt it, as our hands and fingers mimic each other, stroking over arms and shoulders. Throats and chests, pulling playfully at hardened nipples.
Our kiss is deeper, our tongues exploring as much as our hands, this was never about washing. My erection presses into her soapy fist, against her belly, the lather thick between us in the lighter spray. It’s awkward to reciprocate, she would have to move, or stop altogether, and I don’t want her to. Felling lazy and content, I settle for soaped hands skating down her back as she jacks me slowly. No rush, we could do this all day if we wanted, or until the water ran out, whichever happened first. Kissing behind her ear, licking a path down her neck, to the sensitive skin where her neck and shoulder meet. Biting softly, not enough to mark, but enough that every time I do it her hand clenches just a little. I don’t even know if she’s aware she’s doing it but it feels incredible.
More soap, a steady thick pearlescent stream, at the small of her back. My breath catches as I watch over her shoulder, watching the soap make it’s slow path over the dimples of her back, and between her cheeks, before I catch it against my hands when I cup her rear. I don’t know why this fascinates me so much, I’ll probably never know. Maybe it’s just because it’s Jeanette, or that it’s something I’ve never been allowed before. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. We both gasp a little when my hand follows the cleft of her rear, slick now with soap. I press gently, waiting for her to allow it before I move again. My heart races against her chest and my hips press up relentlessly into her hand as I wait for her. Her own heart races and she says nothing but spreads her legs a little further to make it easier, to let me.
A little more soap, my hand again smoothing between her cleft to the tight ring of muscle, stroking gently just around the outside edge with two fingers, pressing very gently. We’re both breathing hard and she trembles under my touch. She’s not the only one. I’m amazed by her ability to turn me on even more than she managed to the last time she touched me. I keep waiting for some sort of plateau that just hasn’t happened yet. Her hand reaches between us to cup my balls, making me growl softly into her skin. She’s fighting with her breathing, forcing deep breaths and slow exhales. To completely relax at my touch. I circle and press again, slipping one soapy finger, and then the second, easily past the tight ring of muscle of her anus, resting just inside her as she clenches involuntarily.
Her hand squeezed me harder, and I wait until she’s relaxed again before easing back a little. Her moan is deep and her body shudders slightly when I press knuckle deep within her again. It still feels so strange that she’s letting me do this, something I’ve always wanted to do, but never really been brave enough to ask for after getting shot down the first time. “Are you okay, ‘Nette?” I don’t want to stop but I would in a heartbeat if she asked me to. Her growl isn’t as deep as mine, she nods, softly growling her assent into my chest.
Her hands tightened a little, stroking me harder, her palm curling over my head as I pressed up into her hand. Our hands keep time with each other, her hand clenching just right, at the base with every deep stroke within her. Our rhythm isn’t slow, but it isn’t fevered either, like trying something that’s still new to us, we take it easy. Panting, her head rests against my shoulder, letting out tiny cries now as her rear presses back a little into my hand. I bite and nip over her shoulder, incredibly turned on watching my fingers plunge into her. I ease a third in, taking it slow, letting her resistance and her voice guide me. Slick with soap there’s little resistance, a flutter of clenching muscle at first before her body accommodated me. Her voice is another matter, a constant needy moan that at first I thought was echoing, until I realized it was my own voice, moaning with her.
Her shudder comes so fast I was afraid I had hurt her and I would have moved my fingers from her but her whole body clenched, the tight ring of muscle with it. A short ragged scream is torn from her and it’s only then that I realize I haven’t hurt her, she’s coming, hard and unexpected. I didn’t even know that was possible, which goes to show just how little I knew about what I was doing. Her hand squeezes me tighter reflexively but I was coming anyway, pistoning my hips into her clenched hand just at the thought that I had made her come like that. She trembles as the force of her orgasm left her weak and I ease my hand from her when she relaxes, turning the spray back up to full to wash her clean again. We cling tight to each other, both of us shaking, and shaken, by the experience, our hearts racing against each other.
“I’ve never done this before and I don’t really know what I’m doing, ‘Nette, it would kill me to hurt you. You’ll let me know?” My voice shakes a little as I whisper in her ear, the level of my inexperience with this humbling me a little.
Her laugh isn’t what I expected, her voice as shaky as mine. “I don’t know what I’m doing either, no one’s ever touched me like that before, just you, but it doesn’t hurt, it just feels…I can’t describe it. I trust you. Completely.” My lips capture hers, sucking water from them before losing myself in her. She trusts me. The water ran cold before we stopped.
We didn’t have a lot to carry, after Jeanette sorted through her clothes. Some things would have to be washed by hand and so those got left behind. The rest we could wash in one load, she said she wasn’t fussy about what got washed with what. It was such an ordinary thing to do with her, like our going grocery shopping. Excitement is highly overrated, it’s the small things that matter, like watching all of our clothes jumbled together through the old fashioned bubble window of an ancient washing machine. My mother used to take me with her, before she passed away, when she went to the laundromat. Not this one of course, but that didn’t really matter, they were all the same, as if time didn’t affect these places.
Heavier older women surrounded by children, speaking in Spanish across the dryers at each other. Kids who had gotten comfortable playing around the machines. The smell of the dryers makes me heartsick for a moment, remembering my mother, she died when I was nine. I didn’t find out until a few years ago that she had died of breast cancer. She couldn’t afford to go to the hospital, and so didn’t say anything about the pain she was in. It wasn’t something anyone in my family talked about, and with my father dying a few years after her, when I was 14, there wasn’t really anyone around I could ask. I stayed with D and his family for a while, but I pretty much ran wild for a few years. The only constants in my life were “Mom”, an elderly Italian woman all of us street kids gravitated to, she would make massive pots of pasta and feed us on her stoop. And Stacy of course, she was a constant in my life too, and probably the only thing, the only reason, that I’m still alive now. I should have been dead, with some of the stupid things I did.
I had gone quiet for a few minutes, resting against the bank of dryers, watching our clothes spin in the washing machine. I had squeezed Jeanette tighter than I had meant to, as I held her, with her back to my chest. She would never ask for an explanation, it’s just not something she would do, but I tell her, about my mother. She stopped herself, but I knew that was likely about to say she was sorry. We’re not like everybody else, we don’t have to be; we couldn’t be, not with what’s happened in our lives. We both know sorry doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t do anything. Jeanette presses into my shoulder slightly, her fingers interlacing with mine, until the wash cycle stops and I can put our clothes into the new clothes dryers that don’t have the same memories tied to them.
It’s around noon, and we sit outside on a wooden bench that runs the length of the dirty windows in front of the laundromat, the smell of the hotdog cart down the street calling on me. Looking at Jeanette I can’t imagine her liking hotdogs, especially not the way I like them piled high with onions and hot sauce and anything else the guys got on his cart. Something else you learn if you’ve ever been a street kid; when you get something like that, where condiments are free, you load up. I got to like them like that.
“You like hotdogs, ‘Nette?” I tried to say it quietly, but two of the little kids that were still in the laundromat heard me, their shiny little black eyes peeking at me from around the corner before their mother grabbed them. She’s used to apologizing I think, the apologies muttered in broken English, and she’s already back doing what she was doing.
“This is revenge for making you eat sushi, isn’t it?” She’s laughing good naturedly and I’m struck again by her beauty, her simplicity. When we had went out for coffee the first day in Seattle, we didn’t go anywhere fancy, she went right to where she liked to go, somewhere simple and plain, and we sat at the back of a warehouse drinking coffee on milk crates. It’s a moment of clarity for me. I don’t have to pretend to be anything else when I’m with her. She would accept everything I am. Everything I was. “I’ll have what you’re having.” She’s grinning at me, a mix of bravado and mischief.
Knowing how I like my hotdogs, that’s pretty brave. “Are you sure?” She’s gives me a slightly worried look when my face breaks into a huge grin. I’m going to pay for this one, I know it.
“How bad could it be, Sean?” We’re both laughing, but probably not for the same reasons. I catch the mothers’ eye as I pass the window, raising two fingers, in a question. For her kids. She puts up a small display, but knows that I know she isn’t serious, and makes a point of going back to her laundry. Just as I make a point of not taking her small display seriously. Some stuff you don’t really ask, and some stuff you don’t wait for the answer. It’s surprising to me how fast that came back to me, and how comfortable it felt to do it again.
I dropped a couple of hotdogs, and a cup of coffee, inside the laundromat, for the two kids. Backing out again quickly, giving her a quick wave so she won’t get a chance to thank me. She would accept it, but it’s not something she’d feel comfortable accepting, so I’d never have her thank me. It isn’t lost on Jeanette, as she gives me one of those intense looks that peeks right into your soul, before she leans in and kisses me softly, not saying a word.
Her jaw dropped when she saw what I had brought back for her, a huge messy smokey hotdog, the biggest they had, with everything on it. You’d almost need a spoon to eat it. Onions and chili and hot sauce and whatever else he had on his stand. The works. “Onions, huh…” She breaks into a quiet laugh, shaking her head at me. “This could be scary, Sean. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself in for.” I was worried for a moment that she wasn’t going to like it. Not that that would be too terrible, it would just mean I would get to eat hers too. She grinned at me, and took a huge bite, enjoying it thoroughly. It’s not the taste of onions that worries her.
Her laugh is a sound that lightens my heart, as we grin at each other. “I guess we’ll just have to leave the windows open, ‘Nette.”
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