Forty-Eight Hours in Heaven & Hell

I hug her to me. “Yes, babe! Do you think I would leave you while you slept?”

“No,” she says, hugging me back. “I wasn’t sure any of this really happened! But now that I know you’re here, I know it really did. Michael, I haven’t slept like that in…I can’t remember! You’ve made me feel absolutely magnificent!

“I know two four-letter words ending in k that men both love and hate. They love the word fuck. They despise the word talk. But talk to me anyway!” Speed bump?!

“Can I throw Kayla out of the picture?” I ask.

“Fuck, please do! I already have!” Sherrie laughs.

“I am going to bring this up just once and never again. You don’t want to hear about it, but I need to say….” I reply.

“When I was married…we had plenty of great times, along with the bad. We were married 20 years. I never cheated on her. I thought we had a great relationship. But we grew too comfortable. A marriage, like a garden, is never finished; it always needs tending. I didn’t tend my part; I can’t judge whether she did her part or not.

“We were never sexually compatible. I wanted sex in the morning, she in the evening, then me in the evening and she in the morning. I wanted it on Monday, she wanted it on Saturday night. As we grew older, I just convinced myself that sex was overrated. I masturbated and would bring her to orgasm every once in a while, when she seemed to want it. We grew close in other ways, but the sex thing was always a bigger symptom than I thought. The short of it is she found a lesbian lover and lives with her to this day. She didn’t leave me, I don’t think, to get her rocks off with a woman. I just wasn’t giving her the other things she needed. I think you can relate to that.

“That’s just a foreword, Sher. I’ve learned I have to grow with the pain. Trees are strengthened by the hurricane, not the rainbow. Today was magnificent for me too. But what I felt went way beyond the physical or mental or emotional—oh, it was all those! But I felt freed of this world. If souls make love, then I now know how they feel. If there is sex in heaven, I just experienced it!”

“I hunger for you!” she replies. “I want to consume you into me. I want to be consumed!” Sherrie rises from bed and goes into the kitchen. She returns with some wine and candles. She pours us each a glass, lights the candles, and places them around the room. She sits in bed next to me. She clinks her glass to mine.

“A toast to my dream!” she says. “May I never wake from him!” She drinks and kisses me. I’m about to cry.

“A toast to my fellow gardener!” I reply. “May we grow many beautiful things together!” I kiss her and she does cry.

[i know what you’re thinking, Michael—that I wrote ‘women are from venus and men are from mars’! not true! just the way it has always been!
world without end, eh, author? amen.]

“Sher,” I say. “I’ve been in positions this past day that I’ve never been in in my life. My back’s killing me! Can you rub it a little, Babe?”

“Oh, Michael,” she laughs. “I give great massage! You don’t know I do that part-time. Right here! Let me set up and I’ll rub you to perfection!”

Sher gets out her table, warms towels and oil, and whatever else her trade requires. I’ve never had a massage. My ex used to get them all the time. The thought of having someone rub me for an hour was repulsive. Part of the old garden I didn’t tend, I guess.

I finish my wine and lie on my stomach on the table. Sher wears a short terry robe not tied very tight—sexy, revealing her breasts and barely covering her pretty behind. She puts some soothing ocean-sounds CD in the stereo and some oil in a burner. Is that patchouli, I smell? She rubs oil into her hands and begins at my shoulders. Oh, Lord, my muscles begin to melt. While Sherrie didn’t strike me as strong or athletic, she has developed her hand and forearm muscles! The tension leaves there. She moves to my lower back. She works the sacrum and either side of it. Bingo! I twitch.

“Sorry, Hon,” she says. “But no pain, no gain! I can feel you really tight there.”

She works me like Gould playing Bach on a Steinway.

[do you really want to say that, author? how ‘bout jimi playing the anthem at woodstock?]

She plays all my keys, to the tiniest bones in my feet. As she works her way back up my legs, I tense my buttocks.

“Relax, Michael,” she says. “I’m a professional now, not that those aren’t the sweetest buns I’ve ever worked on!” God, I fuckin’ love her. I do!

Sherrie asks me to turn over. She moves to my head and begins at my temples, follows the contours of my nose, up my jawbone and to my ears, and then retraces her route. Several times.

She works her way over my chest. Her touch, which had been firm but gentle, becomes more erotic and provocative. She works my stomach.

“Not bad abs,” she says, “for an old fart!” I lift her robe and spank her! She moves to my ankles and then works my calves and thighs. Her hands are slick and work inside my thighs. She’s rubbing harder now, massaging me with insistence.

“You know,” Sherrie says, “massaging a man’s groin is a no-no for a masseuse! Unless you go to one of those sleaze places on Mannheim Road. But, I have a special license from the State of Illinois that allows me to perform this vital function! You do want me to perform this vital function, don’t you, Michael?”

“Does this cost extra?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, Baby!” she says. “It’ll cost you dinner and a dance!”

[i told you to follow the program and it would all work out, Michael! didn’t i?
thank you, author! thank you! is this really just gonna cost me dinner and a dance? that seems awfully cheap in one of your stories!
plots constantly change, Michael. you know that!]

She anoints her hands with more oil. She works me so fine! At first, she uses a tender touch, working her hands into my scrotum and gently massaging my balls. She works that extension of my erection behind my balls, all the way to my asshole. I lift my hips so she can more easily work me. She inserts two fingers and my cock swells further. Okay, lady, you like working my ass! I remember last night, you know!

She climbs up onto the table and removes her robe. In the candlelight, the flickers accentuate her breasts and nipples, her muscles, her sexuality. In complete and beautiful contrast to this afternoon, she becomes a sexual preying beast! She clasps my cock in both hands and massages it. She uses her thumbs to rub under it. She rubs it up and down, squeezing and milking it. Oil and precum mix into an intoxicating lubricant! My breaths become quick and heavy. I am at her brink!

“I want to watch you cum, Michael,” she says. “I’ve never seen a man cum. I want to watch you as I bring you to orgasm. I want to see you shoot your seed, to see me bring you to that moment!”

As she straddles my legs, I thrust like a wild mustang at a mare! She has brought sensations I could never imagine. She works her hands up and down me, and blows her sweet breath on my cock. Images—of her beauty, her thrusting cunt, Travis, my ex-wife, the pottery scene from ‘Ghost’, Walter Payton leaping into the end zone, Sosa’s hop when he knows he’s hit one—race through my brain. I am out of my mind! She has total control of me. I am literally and figuratively in her hands.

My first shot lands on my cheek, my second and third on my chest. After that, I gush my semen on my stomach. It happens fast; it happens slowly. Sherrie helps me cum, gliding her thumb up my shaft with each spurt.

“Sweet Jesus, Michael, you shot 3 feet!” Sherrie says. “You got some kinda cannon!” I think she is both awed and amused. She sips some wine and then lies atop me, sliding her skin over me, gliding on my cum. She cups my head in her hands and kisses my seed from my face. Consume me, Sherrie. You are bread. I am wine. This is communion.

“This day could and should go on forever,” Sherrie softly says, and then shouts, “but I am fucking hungry! Do you realize it’s 9 o’clock?”

I’ve been thinking about dinner since 7:17!

“Wanna order in?” I ask.

“No,” Sherrie says. “I want to go to a noisy place. With music. I want to be with lots of other people on this Saturday night. I want to light up a room with the glow you’ve lit in me. I want the world to see how you’ve made me feel!”

I hit the shower and scrub the oil and dried semen from me. I feel limp but invigorated. This day? The sex? The massage? All of it? I towel off and open the bathroom door. Sherrie stands before me as hot as I could ever imagine her. She is wearing a light-yellow miniskirt she couldn’t possibly sit down in without getting arrested! Her black knit top plunges low and cups her, squeezing and accenting her breasts. Her hair appears radiant and wild. Around her neck, she wears a thin gold chain looped through my ring She’s dressed for her man, I think, very beautiful, very sexy, with just the right hint of slut!

“Nice shoes,” I say, chuckling a bit, as I stare at her black patent 3-inch heels. “FMPs, right?”

I look at her again and I feel no age.

“Sherrie, I will walk with you on my arm any time, Baby!”

She giggles. “Take me to dinner, Beau!”

We go to the House of Blues on Dearborn. Just the place Sherrie wants, and I know it too. It has a certain downtown elegance, but is funk and hip. She’s as excited as a prom date. Men—young, middle, and old—give her double- or triple-looks, stealing glances past their wives or girls. We look for a table and are extremely lucky to find one on a Saturday night. We sit across each other and Sherrie looks just stupendous. What I want my garden to look like! We order drinks.

“Our first date!” she beams and we clink glasses.

“Never to be a last one,” I toast.

We eat and laugh and tell stupid jokes. She flirts with me, the waiter, the guys at the table next to us. She tells me about Bobby, her puppy love from grade school, who won a stuffed unicorn at a carnival and gave it to her. I tell her about being Kathy Ottorini’s Cinnamon Bear in high school.

[author, i’m gonna puke!
oh, c’mon, Michael, you always said you wanted to be in a love story! this is much better than being the Sheriff in ’two bad sundowns in a row,’ isn’t it?
that’s where I got kicked in the head by a horse, right? man, that hurt! who’s gonna kick me senseless in this one?
plot will unfold, Michael, give me some time!]

“Just don’t ask me to dance to anything fast, like I would have to move my feet or something, Sher!” I plead. “Look at me—I’m a middle-aged white guy!” Another neglected part of the garden.

She is having such a good time, though, I don’t think she hears. During the live band’s break, I hear the start of ‘Unchained Melody.” This I can do!

“Would the beautiful lady care to dance?” I ask, standing beside her. I take her hand and she rises like a feather in an canyon’s updraft.

Oh, my love
Oh my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long and lonely time

I grasp Sherrie low on her waist and pull her to me. Our hips meet and we begin to rock and sway gently together. She clasps her hands behind my head. Ours is a simple rhythm of complicated people. Our foreheads and noses touch lightly. I am unaware of anything but Sherrie and the music!

And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine

I move my arms up her back and with my hands massage her shoulders. I move to rub her shoulder blades and push her breasts into me. Our hips never break their touch, and she lightly grinds hers into mine. Oh, God, she is my heaven!

I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love to me

She kisses my ear, my cheek. I work down her back and rest my hands on her hips. As I feel her grind into me, I kiss her neck and cheek. Her eyes are closed. I cannot not look at her. She has become my everything. She is lush with passion and femininity. Deep within, I feel her woman’s soul.

Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea

I kiss her with passion. Deeply. I pour myself. Into her. My arms reach down and cup her and pull her completely to me. My knees begin to buckle as she leans forward on me and then begin to shake as she pulls me to her. This is not a dance of feet.

Lonely rivers sigh
Wait for me, wait for me
I'll be coming home
Wait for me

We dance within many dimensions. She smells of oil and perfume. She tastes of high school and dorms. I feel broken loves and mended hearts in her spine. She smells of us, because I am in her. I have been want to fall in love with her and I finally have.

Oh, oh my love
Oh my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long and lonely time

Sherrie’s head bends backward and I gaze at her neck. I kiss her there all over. Lightly. Then deeply. Consume her, Michael. I blow on her neck and exposed chest and watch her skin pucker. I feel her nipples through my shirt.

Lonely mountains gaze
at the stars, at the stars,
Waiting for the dawn of the day.
All alone, I gaze
at the stars, at the stars,
Dreaming of my love far away.

Her hands are clasped behind my neck and she leans her body back, moving her pelvis completely against me. We sway in the musical breeze. I move my arms up her back and pull her toward me again. This time, there is no space between us. Why should there be any?

And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine

We move up and down against each other. Her hands glide up and down my back, to my behind and then my thighs, and return to my back. She kisses me. Sherrie’s being flows into me like electricity. I am her conductor. I am taken by her. Completely. Utterly.

I need your love

Her body becomes completely rigid. She has become the body electric!

I need your love

She lays her head next to mine and clasps me tightly to her. “Oh!” she says, so surprised.

God speed your love to me

“Oh.” I feel her shudder, quaking like prey in a hunter’s hands.

I suddenly have to catch her as she goes totally limp. I lift her back up and she opens her eyes. She looks like she has seen a ghost! She is crying. She shakes her head and looks at me.

“Michael!” she says. “Michael, I’ve just cum! In your arms. Dancing!”

Everybody else sits down but we continue to stand there. I have not let go of my embrace. Sherrie still is quaking. I try to tend her, but her mind seems far away. Her head is buried in my chest and I look over her shoulder. Through the smoke and conversation, beyond the woman in my arms, I see Travis and another guy walk through the door.

“We should probably leave, Sherrie,” I say. She nods yes and begins to compose herself. I want to pay the bill quickly and get the fuck out. By the time I toss some cash on the table and turn around, I see I am too late. Travis and Sherrie face each other by the bar. Shit!

[five seconds, author, couldn’t you have given me five fuckin’ seconds?!
i can kill you in less than that, Michael. i’ve killed characters in less than that. what are you going to do? this is more than a speed bump, I should think! a disaster in your garden, eh?]

As I hurry to Sher’s side, I can tell they are already exchanging words. I grab her arm and Travis sees me. They stop.

“Hey! Here’s my favorite cocksucker!” Travis says, too loudly. “Weren’t you sucking my knob about this time last night? Trying to swallow all the cum I was shooting down your pussy throat? And now you’re wining and dining my girl? Behind my fuckin’ back!” He looks at Sherrie. “Cunt slut!” and he raises his arm and starts toward her.

I slug him. I just fold my hand into a fist and slam it into the side of his jaw. I’m as dazed as he is, but I had to. I didn’t want a conversation with him, I didn’t want to argue or use my brain or be rational. Lights out, Trav. I uSher Sherrie to the door.

I give the ticket for my car to the valet. Sherrie leans against the building, sobbing uncontrollably, hands to her face. People look at her and then me. The doorman stands, not looking anywhere, but I can tell he thinks I’m the shit who made her this way—fucked her and then dumped her, or something. I’m ready to slug him too. “You don’t know shit!” I shout in his ear. I’m grateful the valet pulls up with my car.

He opens the passenger door and I lead Sherrie to it. She can barely get in on her own. I quickly get behind the wheel and peel rubber out of there. Sherrie is still crying; I think I may have broken a few bones in my hand. I speed south down Michigan Avenue, east on Balboa, and south on Lake Shore Drive. I know this land. I can’t take her to her place; I don’t want to drive to mine—just yet. I turn and head toward the Adler Planetarium, a point jutting out about a half-mile into Lake Michigan. I park, shut off the engine, and lay my head on the steering wheel.

I feel Sherrie touch my broken hand and I flinch. Her crying has subsided into sniffling. I hand her my handkerchief. She wipes her face and blows her nose. I look up and straight out. My town, my city—Chicago gleams with light, beauty, vibrancy, sensuality, sexuality. I love her! I also know that somewhere in her womb, people are being murdered, raped, and robbed. Some drunk husband is beating his helpless wife. Some dudes are dropping XTC into their dates’ drinks. Rats are gnawing at the homeless who just OD’d or whose livers finally gave out.

What a fucking day!

Sherrie edges toward me and rests against my shoulder. I pray for some sense of grace and strength. I am clueless, once again. I try to speak and cannot.

“What he say?” I ask.

“Who?” Sherrie replies. I throw up my hands. This is useless. This ain’t gonna fuckin’ work!

“Travis!” I shout, way too loud.

“He called you an old fuck,” she says quietly. “He says this isn’t gonna go down quietly. He’s gonna fight for me. He wants me back. I told him to go fuck himself with a sax, if he wants something up his ass!” Good for you, Sherrie!

“Hold me.” Sherrie says. I put my arm, shaking with pain, around her.

“Michael,” she says through her sniffles, “I’m sorry. From the whole Todd thing to Travis to your hand. It’s all my fault. I’m so very sorry.” I continue to gaze at the whitecaps, the Sears Tower, the Odyssey sailing by.”

“When I was young,” I say, “cars lined up here all nights of the year. We called it ‘watching the submarine races’ cause you’d pass the cars and not see anyone in them. That’s cause couples dove down on the seats, all cars had bench seats then, necking, fucking, copping a feel. Some cars would rock from the fucking going on. See that building there?” I point to the Prudential Building, 600 feet tall. “That was the tallest building in Chicago when I used to come here. Now it’s a dwarf! I got my first blow-job sitting in the driver’s seat a couple cars down this row. We were both taking classes at UIC. I thought I would never ever feel that good again!

“And I never really did…until today.”

My hand is turning numb and I bring Sherrie closer to me.

“Either everything happens for a reason, Baby, or nothing happens for a reason. I believe the first. If it were a combination, I think we’d all just go fucking nuts! God knows, there’s enough insanity to fill this fucking lake and the other four too.

“I had to wait 52 years, 2 months, and 9 days to meet you. I had to be forged and tempered on life’s anvil so I can be next to you tonight, whatever time it is, on October 7.”

I sigh, deeply, wearily, yet I am calm—and, somehow, happy. Sherrie reaches her head up and lightly kisses me.

“Time to wrap this up, Baby. Where to—old digs or new?” I ask.

“New,” she whispers. “New.”

[Note about Unchained Melody. Music by Alex North and lyrics by Hy Zaret. I could not find any copyright information and sincerely apologize for any unintentional infringement.]

Part 4: Dying to Hear Aerosmith