tagNovels and NovellasMy Son's Best Friend Ch. 18

My Son's Best Friend Ch. 18

byCheleste©

Paul was watching TV. I came in and sat down.

"I'm sorry about Kira," I offered.

He shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Ma, don't worry about me. I'm always okay."

"You know I love you, right?"

"Course I do." He looked at me and smiled.

"I do worry about you sometimes. I can't help it. I don't think it's been that easy for you since Jonah and I've been together. I've tried for things not to change too much, but that's kind of a losing battle. I don't ever want you to feel that I took your friend away from you, but I'm afraid that's how you feel...You were so sweet to me when you found out..."

"Don't worry so much Ma. Jonah and I still hang out. And I've been so busy with Kira, I didn't have that much time for him either. We're not kids any more."

"Do you ever think about what you'd like to do one of these days?"

"Ahh, I don't know. Kira said I should go to the university, get a degree in something. But I don't know. I never was all that good in school."

"What about your job in town? Do you think that could go anywhere?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking about taking a road trip."

"A road trip?"

"Yeah. Some of the guys at the store have been talking about it. Just heading out, seeing what's out there. Maybe going to a concert in Austin, heading down to Mexico, spending some time on the beach. I've heard it doesn't cost much down there."

"Do you have the money for a road trip?"

"Yeah. I've been socking it away for a while. I've saved quite a bit. I sort of had this idea for a while - at least the idea that if I saved up, I could take some time off and do something different. I didn't want to tell you because I thought you'd be sad with me leaving; but now you have Jonah..."

"Oh, Paul, you're so sweet. You do love me, don't you."

"Course I do."

"You don't know any Spanish, do you?"

"No, but Jack does, and he'd be going too. I could pick it up."

"Yeah, I'm sure you would."

* * * *

Well, this was pretty exciting. I didn't know when Paul would be leaving, but it looked like soon. Then I started to worry about Jonah having enough friends once Paul was gone. Seems I always had to find something to worry about!

Jonah was pretty much of a loner anyway. He'd probably be fine with Paul gone.

Besides, I had better things to think about, like the new addition to the house. Even though Paul would be leaving and Jonah could use his room, the idea of him having a studio for his artwork had really grown on me, and I was looking forward to building it with him.

So we sat down to plan it, and I asked him if he had any ideas.

"Adobe," he offered.

"Adobe? Do you know how to do that?"

"I haven't done it, but it's not hard."

"It would make the space nice and cool, and the materials would certainly be cheap," I agreed. "I don't know about you, but I'm not that great at carpentry, so adobe might be more my speed."

I figured with his artistic abilities, he would be good at drawing the blueprint, and I was right. He not only drew a precise blueprint, but also an exterior view and an interior view with details I had never thought of. The room itself was going to be a work of art!

We went to his house, and he assured me that he knew his mother would be gone, and I was happy to hear that. It would just be easier.

I took my truck, and piles of boxes, and we packed up all his belongings.

"Did she say anything about the furniture?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, that dresser could be useful, but you don't need the bed. That little table might come in handy...You know what we should do? We should build you some giant tables for the studio, and racks to hold your paintings, and shelves for paint and brushes..."

Jonah smiled at me. "I think you like the idea of that studio more than I do."

I grinned back, and gave him a hug. "I'm excited! I'm happy you're moving in, and happy I can help you do what you love!"

"So am I."

As I was emptying the dresser drawers, I came across a pile of notebooks, worn, dog-eared, covered with doodles.

"What are these?" I asked.

Jonah was across the room, packing up his CD collection and player and speakers, and he glanced over.

"Journals."

"How long have you been keeping them?"

"Since Singleton."

That was the little grade school up by the intersection. That was where he and Paul had first met.

"So you like to write too...Could I - look at them sometime?"

"Sure."

Wow. It seemed like Jonah wasn't really into keeping secrets. He just didn't volunteer anything. I felt a little easier about having read his poem that day in the forest.

I took the pile in my hands and placed it carefully into a box, marking it so it would be easy to find later. Then I moved on to the next drawer.

We carried the empty dresser to the truck, and ended up strapping it to the roof, because we needed the interior for all the boxes and the nightstand. It was a great little truck, but not as roomy as I had hoped it would be when I bought it. But we managed to get it all in one load, and said good riddance to his former abode.

We were tired when we arrived home, and left it all for unloading later. The sky was clear, so I didn't worry that the dresser would get rained on.

I flopped across my bed, ready for a rest, and Jonah flopped down beside me. I closed my eyes and realized I had a headache. Not a bad one, but obviously some residual tension from the afternoon's project.

"I have a headache."

Jonah reached over, pushing his fingers gently into my neck and the base of my skull. He followed the contours of my scalp, threading his fingers through my hair all the way to my forehead and temples. My body immediately responded, releasing the tension. It amazed me the way his touch could put me into such a deep and immediate state of relaxation.

At his suggestion, I took off my clothes and lay on my stomach. He began at my head, then moved to my back and arms, stroking softly up and down, back and across, kneading and nipping, soothing and smoothing over my shoulders and shoulder blades, down my spine to the small of my back, over my buttocks, down my thighs and calves to my feet.

He took a long time when he got to my feet, massaging each one top and bottom, the instep, the heel, the pad, the ankle, each little toe.

Then he turned me over, moving from my feet up my legs, over my pelvis, up my abdomen to my chest. He stroked my arms, and spent a lot of time with my hands, pushing his thumbs into my palms, following the bones all the way from the wrist to the ends of my fingers.

Then he followed my arms back up to the shoulder joints, pressed the juncture between joints and chest, then circled my breasts, beginning at the breastbone, moving the spiral slowly up to the summit.

He tripped down my stomach and pelvis to my thighs, spreading my legs, stroking the tender inner skin until he reached the hollow, gently petting the frizzy hair.

His touch was warm and sensuous; and as he continued to move his fingertips closer to my center, the pervasive languor began to give birth to little twinges of ecstatic arising. The capricious sensations were scattered at first, but soon coming with a steady beat, and I could feel them rising in him also.

He began to tickle with the tip of his tongue, to lick and swirl, moving into the soft skin, taking the lips between his lips, nibbling closer to the inside. He took his tongue and slid up the crevice between one lip and the jewel in the center, then down the other side. He ran it over the tip of the jewel, followed the ridges up and down, up and down, then flattened it against the center tip.

Then he closed his mouth over it, sucking, and plunged his tongue into the swollen opening, thrusting with the same motion he used with his larger member.

I moaned, repeating the atonal notes over and over with the sensations, which were now a profusion of light and color. In the midst of them, in the very core, I could feel his desire for me, his driving, pulsing, conquering thirst. It drew everything out, like a flower opening with layer after layer of petals, until he reached the pistil in the very heart.

My pelvis arched and rose toward his mouth, drinking him in as deep as I could, contracting and squeezing his tongue with the rhythmic pulsations as they broke, sudden and ineluctable. I continued the cantillations over and over, until the sensations had faded, like the recording of my favorite song.

I lay still, and he shed his clothes and slid up beside me, resting his arm over my waist. His distended pole poked demurely at my thigh.

I looked at him. "You want in?"

He grinned. "Is the pope catholic?'

I spread my legs again, turning them toward him. He eased inside, finding it ripe and mellow.

I relaxed, while he began a long slow ascent, taking his time, fanning the embers until they caught again, warming me, bringing me back to the boiling point. Then we came together in a slow-motion cascade that rumbled and resounded, echoing all the way down the canyon.

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