A Fool Stumbles Into Love Ch. 08

She smiled brilliantly, "OK, then I have a comb and another brush for that." She ran to the bedroom.

Cal got up and went to the kitchen to fix the coffees.

Back in the living room Cal sat on the sofa, Maureen got on her butt between his legs facing the television; she plopped unceremoniously on the rug. He'd poured them each a coffee. It tasted good, invigorating.

She loved it when somebody did her hair. Girlfriends at college used to like to comb out her hair, and she couldn't remember her mother not making over it. Maureen knew she had good hair; thick, black, shiny, and wavy. People liked fiddling with it, and she exulted in having someone making over her anytime anyway.

He had a towel he used to gently pat her back and shoulders, "Now tell me if I hurt you."

"OK," she said.

He carefully slid the brush through her glistening thick rich raven tresses. Stopping for a second he held some in his hand and sniffed it.

He loved her wonderful aroma. He took a big clump and brushed it against his face.

She used the remote and pretended not to be too engrossed in what he was doing. She found a morning talk show, "You want to watch this?"

He wasn't paying attention to the television, "Anything you want."

She sat perfectly still and let him comb out her locks. While he combed, he used his hands to rub her shoulders. His hands and fingers felt strong but not rough. His body smelled like a girl's thanks to the shampoos they'd used, but she didn't care. She liked the idea he wasn't embarrassed by little things like that. His breath smelled of coffee. She liked that too.

Cal slowly worked the brush downward. He was trying to form a part down the middle of her scalp. He had this fantasy he could work her hair into two braids like she'd had the other evening; make two braids and then tie them off together with a black ribbon in the back. When she'd done it had looked really sexy. He started thinking; thinking about other things.

He opened up, "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Anything," she answered, secretly thinking he might bring up their childhoods.

He waited a minute. She thought he'd changed his mind.

"Have I ever given you an orgasm?'

"What," she asked?

"You know. Have I given you an orgasm?"

"I guess so."

"You guess so? You don't know?"

"Well, yeah, yes I mean. You've given me an orgasm."

He kept brushing her hair, "Tell me about it."

She was flustered, "I don't know. Things feel good; then things feel real good."

"What things?"

"You know."

"No I don't know. Tell me."

She thought this was getting kind of kinky, "I like it when you kiss me."

"Does that give you an orgasm?"

She answered, "No." Then she turned her head slightly, "Why are you asking me this?"

"I want to know. Am I giving you orgasms or not?"

She tried to shut the subject down, "You are, so forget it. What else do you want to know?"

He wanted to know more, "What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?"

"An orgasm."

"It feels good."

He wouldn't quit, "All right what's good about it; me just kissing?"

"No; not just that."

"OK, what?"

Maureen took the brush out of his hand and started brushing her hair herself. Still squatting on the rug she swiveled around, "You want to know what an orgasm is like?"

"Yes."

She shifted around so that she was kneeling, her feet tucked up under her legs, "All right. I'll tell you."

Cal lay back and spread out on the sofa, waiting.

She put her hands in her lap, "First I like the kissing. I like the kissing a lot. You're a good kisser, a real good kisser. You aren't in a hurry. I like it when you use your fingernails and rub up and down the back of my neck. I suppose you can tell because my hackles rise."

He nodded.

She went on. "I like it when you rub my thighs, my inner thighs and the backs of my thighs. It feels good when you rub your fingers up and down the calves of my legs. I like it when you trace your fingers over my scars." She saw his uncertain look, "I know where every scar is. I know when you're thinking about them and when you're touching them. I like it. It makes me feel good."

He asked again, "So when does the orgasm come?"

She spun around so she was sitting on her side with all her weight on her left elbow, "Shut up and listen." The whole conversation was making her nervous.

Impatiently she added, "I like it when you fiddle with my hair, when you run your fingers through it, when you hold it. Just now when you held it to your face, I liked that. You brush it and I feel good, special good."

He interrupted, "So what about the orgasm thing? When does the orgasm come?"

She spun around, resting her weight on her right elbow. The whole question and answer thing was getting tedious, "All the things I've mentioned make me feel good. I feel special, important. I think when you do that stuff you're thinking about me, only me. Like I'm all you're thinking about. It makes me feel good about you. I feel warm inside; inside my heart. Then you start to touch me down here." She took her hand and rubbed her mons.

"When you touch me down here you're slow, and you're careful. You're not rough. You're never in a hurry. I like that. You go down on me. You go down here and you kiss my mound. You take your tongue and you tickle my clitoris. That really feels good, but I don't think it would feel that good if you hadn't done all the other things first."

He interrupted, "You mean like kissing you and touching you."

She nodded, "It all adds up. You kiss me; you touch me here, and here, and here." She touched herself on the back of her neck, her breasts, and her thighs.

"Sometimes you touch my pubis or my clitoris, or you kiss it, and then you stop. When you stop I immediately want you to start again. I feel like I need to itch it. It's not really an itch; it's like an itch, like I can't leave it alone."

He was getting it, "But what's an orgasm like?"

She said, "I don't know. You add all these things up and then something happens. I feel suddenly, not suddenly really, but like it's suddenly I feel like my vagina's working overtime. I have this hot sensation, I get real wet, everything gets tighter; everything gets flushed and nervous. It happens here," She touched her pubic area, "But it happens other places too. I feel nervous and tense all over, mostly here," again pointing to her crotch, "But all over too."

He nodded.

She went on, "I've felt all this when you've been inside me; I mean this warm excitement, but once when you weren't inside I felt it. You've done your stuff inside me, and twice it made me have this extra feeling, but once this extra feeling happened afterward again even when you'd stopped doing anything. It was like I did it twice. But honestly, you've gone inside me, and though it felt good, I didn't have anything. Once, even, I had a really special feeling after you'd done it, and you'd started to get smaller. You kept kissing me and touching me, and even though you were going away inside I had a thing."

He said, "You mean it happens all the time."

"No,' she answered, "It hardly ever happens, but there's no one thing that causes it. It's all the things I mentioned causing it, and at different times, and it doesn't just happen. I'm always thinking when it happens, not about my body, but about you, and me, and how you make me feel, not just what I feel, but how I think we both feel."

He thought he'd gotten, "Oh I get it."

She stopped him, "No you don't. I have all these things happening to me, you kiss me, you whisper things, you nibble here, tickle there, you touch me, squeeze me, pinch me, hold me in special ways, then you touch my privates, you rub them, kiss them, squeeze them, stop kissing them, start again, put your thing inside me, ejaculate. But it's not all physical, it's mental, emotional, a heart thing. You make me love you in my mind, and then my body too. It's all of me that has it; it's concentrated a lot in my privates, but it goes on all over too.

He pulled her off her elbow and started kissing her. Her comments about the kissing, hugging, and loving had made him want to do some more.

She didn't, "Stop it. I don't want to do this again right now."

He sat up, "Do what?"

"I don't want to make love with you right now; you're upsetting me."

"I'm sorry."

She angrily threw the brush down, "Why are you apologizing for making me feel loved and happy?"

He felt surprised and a little hurt, "I'm sorry. No I mean I'm not sorry for how I make you feel. I want you to feel that way. I'm sorry for making you think I was trying to take advantage of you just now."

He paused, "Can't I at least hold you some more?"

Maureen's patience and self control were at and end, "Oh shut up. And no you can't hold me. Got any more questions?"

That hurt his feelings. He really wanted to hold her and kiss her some more, but he still had other questions. He asked, "How many operations did you have on your legs?"

She slumped down, "Talk about going from the ridiculous to the sublime. I had eight major operations, and I think four smaller ones."

"That's a lot."

"And everyone hurt."

He was really concerned; feeling extra empathetic, "It's a remarkable thing that you survived at all."

She moved over closer; not for affection, she was thinking this might be it, "I had all my big operations after the worst was over."

"What do you mean the worst was over?"

"My mom told me I nearly died two or three times before any real surgeries were performed. You see I was too young, too small, and too weak for them to risk putting me under the knife. It was six months before anything big was attempted; even then I'm told my bones were still like crumpled up mush."

"Those first months must have been tough."

My mom said I wouldn't have made it except for the nurse I had," She hesitated, "and her little boy. My mom said the little boy was like my pretend protector, my fantasy inspiration. He pretended to be my guardian. My mom said he was my guiding light through a dark dangerous tunnel." She spun around, pressed her cheek on the seat of the sofa. She stared penetratingly, questioningly, into his eyes.

Cal felt a rush. The walls were closing in again! A wave of fear swept over him; like someone had just walked on his grave. He had an acute gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He was going to throw up. He didn't know why. He had to get away from whatever it was. He changed the subject. He nervously asked, "Show me how you make those braids."

Maureen didn't want to give up. She wanted to chase him down, "I thought you wanted to hear about my legs."

There it was again! Sure he wanted to hear about her legs; he did but he didn't. It scared him to think about what she had gone through. It scared him to think about something else, something he couldn't put his finger on. He had to escape whatever it was. "Maybe later; show me how to make a braid. Tell you what, remake your hair the way you had it at the tavern."

She saw the desperation in his eyes. His face was chalk white. He was scared! He'd gone farther than he was ready to go, "You mean the night you punched that guy in the nose."

He felt relieved. He was afraid, and he didn't know what of; like he'd stepped back from some dark chasm, "Yes."

As he recovered his aplomb he knew he had to change the subject in his mind. He had to get out quick! He reflected on what he'd asked about the orgasm thing. He was glad he hadn't tried to rush things, though his reasons had more to do with not hurting her and little to do with giving her an orgasm. He liked what she'd said. He would work even harder at being a good lover.

The other thing was pushing back at him. She was only four. He would have been six! What was wrong with him? Why would her legs, her surgeries, her suffering so corrupt his thinking?

He had to get grounded again. He thought about her clothes. He liked everything she'd worn. But he had a little money; he thought it would be cool to dress her up even more. He needed to buy her stuff, just like the way she'd bought him all that stuff.

The other shit wouldn't go away! What was wrong with him? Her legs, her surgeries, the damn nurse, and now she said something about a little boy! What fucking little boy? Get this shit out of your mind Cal!

He watched her sitting there on the floor in her bathrobe, breasts loose, nipples all pert and sassy, thighs and arms all pretty, firm, and muscular, scars! She was going to be his fairy princess!

Fairy princess? Where the hell did that come from? His palms were sweating. His heart was beating a mile a minute Get off the fucking subject!

He tried again. He was going to dress her all up. From now on she'd be the total cat's meow, only the best from now on. She was his girl, his fiance, soon to be his wife, the mother of children they would make and raise together. He would take care of her, protect her, see that she was safe. Safe from what? Who was the fucking little boy? Who was the fucking nurse?

Maureen watched him. She could see the turmoil.He was at war with himself. She wanted to cry out to him, console him. She wanted to tell him! She couldn't do it. He had to make the discovery by himself. Yet she thought, 'her mom had told her. Why couldn't she help him, let him off the hook?

Not yet. We'll see.'

She punched his leg, "Hey are you watching?"

He knew she meant her doing her hair; that wasn't all he was watching, "Yes ma'am."

"Don't yes ma'am me you clod!"

He smiled. He loved it when she talked dirty. He wished she'd let him hold her and kiss her some more.

++++++++++++

For the next several minutes Maureen sat on the floor in front of the sofa and braided her hair the way she'd done the night they'd gone to the tavern. Cal watched intently. Her every move, every discreet twist and turn gave him a thrill. For most of the braiding Maureen devoted her energies to explaining what she was doing. Cal was only half interested in the process; he preferred to just watch her. He bet she could make kneading dough look sexy.

Near the completion of her braiding Maureen asked, "Are we going to work on the gazebo today?"

Cal had put thoughts of the gazebo on the back burner, "What do you say we do something else today; take a break from the gazebo."

Maureen was all for a break. Her muscles ached, "Did you have anything else in mind?'

He responded reflectively, "Sort of. Maybe we

could go shopping?"

Maureen looked up suspiciously, "What do you want to buy?"

He gave her an enigmatic smile, "It's a secret."

Maureen gave him an equally mysterious smile,

"OK, I'll go shopping with you, if you answer one question."

He was still naked, "Can we get dressed first?"

Yeah I guess we'll have to if we're going out.

I'll run in the bedroom and slip something on. Your stuff's been in the washer. It may still be a little damp. Put it in the dryer for fifty minutes. We'll sit in the kitchen, you naked me dressed, and you can ask me some more questions."

For Cal the crisis had passed, more questions probably would be all right, "Sounds good." He got up and went to the kitchen.

Maureen went back and looked around for something to put on. The weather looked nice outside, maybe a little cool so she selected her attire accordingly. She opted for a pair of black jeans, a white button up long sleeved blouse, and a light green pull over V-necked sweater, a pair of dark brown knee high stockings, and some white tennis shoes.

She dabbed on a tad of make up, and strolled into the kitchen. Cal had his T-shirt, socks, and jeans humming away in the dryer. He'd look like a ragamuffin next to her, but she liked that. It would be easier to boss him around. He liked being bossed a little. She'd mix the orders with affection and have him soft and gooey all day.

Maureen went in and sat beside Cal, "I have a question."

Cal had summoned some reserves of courage. He thought he'd figured something out, "Me first."

"OK," she responded.

He was determined to get something out, "Who was the little boy you mentioned?"

Maureen made up her mind. It was time to tell him. But she wouldn't just say it. She'd show him. She'd show him like her mother had shown her, "Wait here Cal."

Maureen disappeared upstairs to her mother's room. She found the old toys and the pictures. She held everything in her hands. She looked in her mother's mirror, "Well here goes."

++++++++++++

Downstairs the telephone rang.

Cal picked it up, "Hello."

It was the police.Cal's grandfather had been in an accident; he'd been taken to the emergency room at the nearby county hospital.

Cal yelled upstairs, "Maureen I have to go. My grandfather's hurt himself."

Maureen called back, "Wait for me."

Cal waited outside beside his grandfather's car.

Maureen locked up the house and jumped inside. She asked, "What did they say?"

Cal answered, "He's not hurt badly. He dropped something on his foot. I still have to go."

Maureen thought about the pictures and the toys she'd left out on her mother's bed. They could wait. Cal's grandfather was in trouble. There was something else she had to straighten out first.

She looked over at the beleaguered Cal. Maggie was panting on the back seat.

Maureen touched his arm, "Cal."

He threw the car into drive, looked over, "Yes."

She admonished, "Jared's our grandfather." She put extra emphasis on the word our, "We have to go." She emphasized the word we.

Cal slammed on the breaks, threw the car into park. He reached across, grabbed Maureen and pulled her over the console. He embraced her and kissed her, "Let's go see our grandfather."

She leaned back on her side of the car. She took the old wedding ring off and stuffed it in her purse. She kept the engagement ring on, "He'll be pleased to see me wearing this."

Cal looked down at her hand; at the old ring. He responded in a husky half whisper, "Yeah."

Together they drove off toward the hospital.

++++++++++++

The car trundled along the country road toward the hospital. Maureen had just missed her chance to tell Cal abut his childhood; their childhoods together. Maybe this was better? Wait and see. If Jared wasn't too badly injured maybe she could talk to him; maybe he'd have something to say.

She glanced over at Cal. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him; especially if his grandfather was in trouble. Yes, she'd find a chance to talk to Jared if she could. Jared might help.

Cal concentrated on his driving, but something had clicked. Somewhere deep in the innermost bowels of his unconscious a gear had shifted, the universe, his universe, had changed. He couldn't be sure what or when, but he'd figured it out. His mother had died when he was little, but he knew she'd kept all his little boy things, all his toys, his Halloween outfits, the pictures he'd drawn. Some of the pictures came back now; clumsy little crayon sketches. They were clear, right there in his mind's eye. He saw the girl, the black hair, the green eyes, the chair, the bed, the gazebo.

He saw himself too; a little stick boy with yellow hair. He needed to find them to make sure, but he had it figured out. He knew who Maureen's nurse was. He knew who the little boy was. It was joyous! The mud had settled; the mist had been blown away. Oh joy! What a happy discovery!

Maureen had said something; it had been a trigger, something that had cleared a way through the fog. It hadn't been that foggy anyway; once whatever it was she'd said penetrated, the jumble, all the confused pieces came together. What had she said? She'd said something about a guardian, a protector, the little boy being her guide.

Cal smiled. That's what it had been! He'd been her guide and guardian. He'd guide her through the dark dangers, and he'd been there to protect her from all the dragons and monsters. Cal had been Maureen's protector. The gazebo had been their special place. It all fit!