Daisy Refined Ch. 02

Waking up with John late that first morning had seemed good and natural with none of that "morning after" awkwardness. We spent most of the day in my bed, making love. John was a sweet and considerate lover. We just seemed to fit.

The days and nights rolled by, and we spent most of our free time together, usually at my house. John always said my house was more cozy and seemed more like a home than his. I supposed that was because there was no woman taking care of his house, making it a home. On the nights I worked late, he'd come to the bar and wait so that he could drive me home. I loved having him there and never felt smothered by the attention, as I might have with someone else. It felt good belonging to someone that way. Nobody had worried about my safety or wanted to take care of me in years.

In May, my daughter called to tell me she wouldn't be coming home for the summer. She was staying on campus with her boyfriend, ostensibly to work and save money for the coming school year. I'd always tried not to hold my kids too tightly and encouraged their independence, but I hadn't seen her since Christmas and missed her terribly. John held me that night as I cried. He didn't try to give advice or cheer me up. He just held me and let me cry and listened when I needed to talk.

We went to movies, out to dinner, and on numerous long, afternoon motorcycle rides on John's Harley. I loved snuggling up to his back, his butt between my thighs, my arms wrapped around his waist. At first, I wore an old ill-fitting helmet of John's, but in June, he surprised me. We roared up to the front of a bike shop on the Harley and stopped. John smiled as he led me inside.

"What are we doing?"

"You'll see. C'mon." He led me inside by the hand, still grinning.

Inside, a large, muscular guy by the name of Ralph measured my head and proceeded to try several motorcycle helmets on me. Each time, he'd push the helmet down on my head, grab it with both hands and try to move it around.

"How does this feel?" he'd ask.

"Tight."

"It should feel snug and secure but not uncomfortable."

John simply stood leaning against the counter, watching, smug grin still in place.

We finally settled on a shiny black three-quarter helmet with the Harley-Davidson logo emblazoned on the front. Further surprising me, John bought himself a matching men's helmet. When I looked at him questioningly, he shrugged.

"Time for a new one, babe."

I loved the helmet. Having my own was so empowering, so sexy. At least, it felt that way to me. Later that night, I kept trying it on and admiring myself in front of the mirror. I never knew I had a secret longing to be a biker chick.

Still looking amused and pleased with himself, John watched me from the bed.

"You gonna sleep in it?"

"Maybe. Would you mind?"

"Might make sex kind of hard."

Sauntering over to the bed, I untied my robe and let it fall to the floor. I kneeled next to him on the bed and flipped the faceguard up.

"Since we have matching helmets now, does that mean we're engaged?"

I smiled as I spoke but immediately regretted saying it. What is it about women that we always have to put labels on relationships? So, there I sat, naked, wearing only a motorcycle helmet, with my foot in my mouth.

I needn't have worried, though, because John, aside from being obviously aroused, threw back his head and laughed uproariously, then pulled me close.

"Something like that, babe. Something like that."

In July, we strolled around our town's annual Founder's Day Festival, hand in hand, the warm wind billowing the long skirt of my flowered sundress. I hadn't attended the festivities since my kids were small and delighted in sharing them with John. I almost felt like a kid again myself. We ate powdered sugar-covered elephant ears and Italian sausage sandwiches smothered in onions and peppers and drank fresh-squeezed lemonade. We rode the Ferris wheel and crashed into each other in the bumper cars. John even won a giant blue stuffed poodle from one of the carnival games, which he presented to me with mock seriousness.

"For you, m'lady," he said with a deep bow.

The sticky heat of August brought an end to our idyll. Our relationship was still satisfying, and I'd never felt so loved and happy, but things took a bit of a turn, and for the first time I had some doubts about us.

Mid month, John asked me to help him choose a birthday gift for his daughter, Christy, whom I hadn't met. Actually, I hadn't met any of John's family, and it bothered me. He didn't seem especially close with any of them, except for his brother, whom he would occasionally mention. Still, it seemed kind of strange, but I hesitated to talk with him about it.

Christy was in her mid twenties and married with two small children. John was thinking about a gift that the whole family would enjoy.

"How about something just for her?" I suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's a young mom and probably doesn't do much for herself or take much time just for herself."

John grinned. "What would I do without you, babe?"

"You'd be in trouble for sure." I laughed. "But I hope we never have to find out."

"Me neither. I love you, Daisy."

I think my heart skipped a beat every time he said it. He pulled me into his arms for a kiss.

"I love you, too, honey."

We settled on a spa day for Christy. John called an establishment in Camden, where she lived, and they agreed to print up a gift certificate for a manicure, pedicure, facial, massage, and haircut, which he would pick up that Saturday afternoon before the party.

Perfect, right? The problem, though, was that I assumed I'd be accompanying John to the party and meeting his family for the first time. I guess I figured helping with the gift kind of sealed it. John never mentioned it again though. He was on the midnight shift at work that week, and when I talked to him briefly on Thursday, he said he'd see me on Sunday.

"Sunday?" I was confused.

"Yeah. I'm going to Camden on Saturday, remember?"

I was stunned.

"Oh, right," I stammered. Had I missed something? Become confused somehow?

"Alright. I better get going. Love you, babe."

"Okay. Bye." I hung up the phone.

Yes, I was hurt, and when John showed up on my doorstep late Sunday morning, I couldn't hide it. He seemed perplexed by my coolness.

"You gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

I turned to look at him, and then went back to wiping down my kitchen counter. John sat down at the table and waited. I continued to bustle about the kitchen, putting things away, sweeping up crumbs. As I passed by him on my way to put the broom in the closet, John snagged me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap. After a brief, ineffective struggle to be free, I sat resignedly still, but refused to make eye contact with him.

"I missed you," he murmured, nuzzling my neck.

"Don't."

"Why not?" he asked, with his lips pressed against my ear.

"Because." I tried again to push him away.

"Damn it, Daisy. Just tell me what the problem is. I can't read your mind."

"How was the party?"

"It was real nice. Now, tell me what's wrong with you."

"Are you ashamed of me, John?"

"What? Why would you even ask me that?"

I simply sat and watched realization drop on him like a bomb.

"Aw, shit." He let go of me and rubbed his hands over his face.

I stood and returned the broom to the closet, slamming the door closed extra hard.

"I really thought I'd be going with you."

"I'm sorry, babe. It just never occurred to me that you'd want to go." He shrugged.

"You don't find it strange at all that we've been seeing each other for what?" I paused to count on my fingers. "Like five months, and I've never met any of your family? Do they even know about me?"

"No." He inhaled deeply and puffed his cheeks out as he blew the breath out between pursed lips.

"You met my parents and Jeremy."

My son, Jeremy, had spent the Fourth of July with his grandparents and me.

"I love you, Daisy."

"Pfffft. I know you do. Just not enough to meet your family, right?"

He shook his head and shrugged again.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

In the end, I let it go. I couldn't stay mad at him when he didn't argue or try to defend himself in any way. He simply apologized and, again, told me he loved me, as I stood in front of the kitchen sink, my hands braced on the counter. His arms wrapped around my waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my neck. His body pressed against mine, and he kissed the skin right below my ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, as his hands cupped my breasts.

It's funny how anger can turn to arousal in the blink of an eye sometimes. I moaned and leaned against him, covering his hands on my breasts with my own and squeezing. Since John had been working the midnight shift, we hadn't made love in several days, and I was hungry for it. I was desperate to have him inside me, to possess him, to be filled by him.

Reaching for the button on my denim shorts, I released it and unzipped them and pushed them down my legs. John held me with one hand, and unfastened his pants with the other. Both of us were panting as he pushed me down over the counter and stabbed into my pussy from behind. His hands grasped my hips as he slammed into me, causing my feet to nearly leave the floor again and again. I laid my hot cheek against the coolness of the countertop and lost myself in the frenzy of pleasure.

John sneaked one hand around front, between my legs, and grabbed my mound from the top, his fingertips digging into my clit as he thrust against me. My howling, shuddering climax came quickly, and John soon followed, moaning and straining against me as he erupted. He sunk to the floor then, leaning his back against the cabinets, pulling me with him and into his lap.

John's attitude toward me remained unchanged, if a little bit sweeter, maybe a bit more solicitous. The next day, a large vase of pink roses and daisies and baby's breath arrived with a card that simply said I love you. John. Though I was touched and relieved that things seemed to be getting back to normal, the doubts remained with me.

We never spoke of the birthday party again or of me meeting his family at all. Yes, I decided to let it go, but it still bothered me. I tried to push it out of my mind, and even succeeded for days at a time.

A few weeks later, for my birthday, John surprised me with a long weekend at a bed and breakfast inn in the country. We rode the bike there, and the day was cool and crisp and fragrant as a windfall apple, the first feeling of fall in the air. The quaint, graceful atmosphere of the big old house relaxed me almost immediately. Our room was tucked away on the third floor with a four-poster bed with a crocheted canopy. Dormer windows looked out over an emerald green lawn with a small lake and mountains in the distance. It was perfect.

We spent the weekend wandering the countryside, picnicking, browsing through old antiques shops and Amish stores, and relaxing in the whirlpool tub in our room at the inn. It was beautiful and sweet. On the last night, we went to a Mexican restaurant in a nearby town that boasted 101 flavors of margaritas. We joked that we needed to try all of them and ended up drinking too many, laughing together the whole time. Truthfully, John shouldn't have been driving, but we made our way back to the inn without incident.

Back in our room, we both tumbled onto the bed, laughing.

"Oh, God, I ate too much!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, but it was good," John replied, drawing out the last word for emphasis.

He lay on his back rubbing his belly and smiling at me, looking completely adorable in the pinkish glow from the bedside lamp. We'd had a wonderful weekend, and I wanted to make this night memorable. I wanted to make him feel loved and cherished and completed by me. Standing, I peeled off my clothes except for my bra and panties and tossed them on the floor, then clambered back up onto the high bed and straddled him.

The smile never left John's face, as he closed his eyes and stroked his palms up my thighs. I leaned forward, bracing myself on my hands on either side of his head and kissed that smile.

"Thank you for this weekend. It's been wonderful."

"Mm-hmmm," he hummed against my lips, separating them with this tongue.

I sucked his tongue into my mouth, tasting a hint of warm spiciness from the food we'd eaten earlier mingled with John's own taste. We continued kissing as I reached between us to unhook the front fastener on my bra and shrugged out of it. John's hands played over my bare back, the calluses on his palms rasping over my softer flesh, making me shiver. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of my panties to cup and squeeze my buttocks. I loved the roughness of his hands on me. The gentleness combined with the hardness nearly drove me wild.

Most of the time I was content to let John take the lead in our lovemaking, but tonight I wanted to be in the driver's seat. My arousal at this point, however, had become so great that I didn't know if I could continue. Allowing myself to be swept along in John's wake was tempting, but I fought it, tamped it down, swallowed my lust. The key, it seemed, was to detach myself slightly, to not give in to my own hunger until his was satisfied.

I rose, still straddling John's hips, and with a gentle rocking motion, ground myself against the bulge in his pants. He thrust his hips in response, rolling with me, as our eyes met. Keeping my eyes on his, I skimmed my fingertips slowly up my abdomen, arched my back, and cupped my breasts. My stiff nipples peeked out between my fingers as they brushed my skin. I squeezed the fleshy orbs, and their fullness overflowed my hands.

"You're gorgeous," John murmured.

I smiled as I began to unbutton his shirt. Starting with the top button, I worked my way down his body with my lips, kissing each bit of skin as it came into view, then pulled the tails free of his pants. My palms laid flat against his warm abdomen and skimmed upward, over the coarse hairs and his nipples, to his neck. I leaned forward again, ran the tip of my tongue up along the tendon on one side of his neck, and nipped his earlobe with my teeth. John groaned and tightened his arms around me. Nuzzling his neck, I worked my way back down and around to his throat, where I pressed a wide open-mouthed kiss.

My tongue left a lazy damp trail down his chest to one nipple, which I circled, then sucked into my mouth. John clutched my head with his hands and gasped as my teeth closed on the hard pebble and pulled. Opening my mouth wide, I sealed my lips around his breast and sucked in, scraping my teeth slowly across his skin as my lips closed around the nipple once again. I sucked hard and pulled my head back, releasing him with a pop.

"Mmmm, God, babe," he breathed, constricting his fingers in my hair.

I scooted myself down, kissing and licking my way along his abdomen until I was kneeling on the bed between his legs. He watched through slitted eyes as I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and reached inside for his cock. Holding it in my hand, I kissed the tip and then sucked the whole head into my mouth. John groaned as I sucked and rubbed my tongue up and down the underside, concentrating on the ridge. My fingers tightened around the base of the shaft as I pushed the head further down my throat. John's hips began to jerk while he panted and moaned.

The heat of John's arousal, not to mention my feeling of control and utter delight at my ability to give such pleasure, had me on my knees, squeezing my thighs together hard. I was so turned on, that I slipped my fingers inside the elastic at the crotch of my panties and rubbed my clit while I continued to suck John's cock.

He must've been watching me, because as soon as I touched myself, he groaned and reached for me, grasping wildly at my head, then my neck and shoulders, pulling me up toward him.

"Ah, Daisy," he panted. "Need to be. Inside."

All but tearing my panties in my hurry to be out of them, I pulled them off and flung them across the room, then swung a leg across John's hips and slipped his cock into me. He grasped my hips so hard, his fingers bruised my skin, as I began to rock. Leaning forward on my hands so that he could thrust up into me, I matched his rhythm, and we climaxed together after only a few thrusts.

The next day, feeling slightly battered but in high spirits, I rode home on the back of John's bike, enjoying the sunshine. We stopped for lunch at a family-style restaurant at the side of the interstate. A half hour from home, the sky clouded over, and the air cooled. As we pulled into John's drive, fat, cold drops of rain plopped on us.

"Hey, just in time!" John exclaimed.

We stood inside his garage watching the downpour, the sheets of water flowing down the windshield of my car, which sat in the driveway. I wrapped my arms around John's waist, laying my head on his shoulder, and we stood like that, just watching the rain.

Finally, John said, "I have to get ready for work, babe." He kissed the top of my head and moved to pull away and go into the house.

Reluctantly, I let go. Maybe I had a premonition this would be the last tender moment we'd share. Maybe a part of me knew this was it. Nevertheless, I followed him into the house. He headed down the hallway toward the bathroom.

"Wait for me, okay?" he asked.

"Sure."

I thought I might save him some time by packing his lunch. I washed and dried my hands, then opened the fridge. The sound of the shower joined the patter of rain against the window as I piled sandwich fixings and fruit on the counter. The carafe for John's coffee maker looked like it could use a wash, and I was just doing that when the phone rang. John was still in the shower, and I wasn't sure if I should answer it or not. Thinking it might go to voice mail, I let it go for a few rings, then ran to the living room and grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"Who the fuck is this?" a woman's voice asked.

Not to be outdone by some ballsy stranger, I said, "Well, who the fuck is THIS?"

"Let me talk to John."

"Excuse me?" I said.

This was becoming annoying. I heard the shower turn off, and the bathroom door open.

"Listen, bitch. You're in MY house, so do as I say," the woman shrieked. "Let me talk to that son of a bitch. Now."

Somewhere in the back of my head a tiny synapse fired with a pinprick of pain that blossomed into a headache so severe, it would not leave me for days.

"Who are you?" I asked again in a much quieter voice.

"Who are you?"

"Daisy."

"Well, Daisy, you miserable cunt, you fucking piece of shit whore, this is his wife. Is he there or not?"

John had walked into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Our eyes met, and he must have seen the shock in mine and known what was happening because he tried to grab the phone. I turned away from him.

"There must be s-some mistake. He doesn't have a wife," I stuttered. I felt as if this horrible woman had reached through the phone and eviscerated me with her sharp tongue.

"Sure he does, slut. This is Mrs. John Hollingsworth, the loving wife of twenty-five fucking years. Now, please let me talk to my goddamn husband, you cock sucking cunt."

I turned back to John and handed him the phone. He looked stricken.

"It's your wife," I said.

Hot tears filled my eyes and splashed over to scorch my cheeks. I'd never felt tears so hot. My one wish at that moment was that the ground would open and swallow me up to smother my pain in the cold dirt.

"What do you want, Donna?" John asked.

I could hear the crazy bitch go off on a rant. John held the phone away from his ear for a moment, then close again.