We Need To Talk

"I'm sorry," was what I said to her.

"I'm sorry too," she admitted. "But not for the reason you think."

As I sipped the coffee, and she skewered the frappe with a straw, I wondered what she thought my reason was.

"This isn't about you, Jack," she muttered.

"It isn't?"

She shook her head. If anything, her hair was more disorganized than yesterday. I did something to me inside that I couldn't quite put a name to. Squeezed something or made it quiver uncomfortably. I really liked this almost mop-haired, almost tomboy look on her. It occurred to me she hadn't washed it and I liked that idea too.

"What is it about then?" I asked.

"My horrible insensitivity yesterday, and the fact that I dreamed about you all night long again."

Sex had been a huge mistake for us both. I had tossed and turned all night and dreamed things I didn't want to examine in the cold light of dawn. I wouldn't tell her that anxiety had stopped me twice on my way home to Clinton to answer my cramped bowels. It wasn't Janice or my marriage that I was anxious about. My bowels were cramping a bit right now.

"Would it be possible to forget about yesterday?" I asked. "Not because of your aunt, or your fiancé, or even the fact that I'm old enough to be your dad. Can we lock it away in a room somewhere and hang the key on a nail outside the door until we sort all this out?"

Her expression was wry amusement. The twist of her mouth identical to that of an infamous Olympic gymnast. It occurred to me this was an expression achievable only by women.

"Does the door have a deadbolt too?" she asked.

"It does if you want it too," I agreed. "Multiple deadlocks and a big red and yellow sign warning of lethal radioactive content."

Despite herself, Bonnie laughed. She idly stirred the frappe, looking somewhere in the middle distance of my chest. She hadn't yet tasted the iced coffee. It looked like she hadn't eaten today, either. The planes of her face were hand-chiseled; her cheeks polished marble, her nose and chin a labor of love. Bonnie was wasted as a software designer, I thought; her true vocation was in a sculptor's studio, draped over a Roman or Greek divan. I wanted to sculpt her myself.

In horror, I watched my hand reach out and cup her left cheek. In relief, after a moment's hesitation, I watched her press my hand against her shoulder, capturing it. My insides felt like molten rock trapped in a magma chamber deep underground. I wanted Bonnie in the way she hadn't given herself to me yesterday. I removed my hand slowly and wrapped it with the other around the cup.

"Sorry," I apologized. "That didn't help much." I sipped my coffee while she continued to stir the frappe. With a tiny smile she said, "It didn't hurt a lot, either." And then she apologized again for yesterday.

* * *

Bonnie slid the keycard into the slot and quickly yanked it up again. We both heard the telltale click of the mechanism and watched the light on the lock blink green. She pushed down the handle and cracked the door open before the light could flick back to red. She looked up, trepidation and uncertainty in her eyes. I could only smile at her reassuringly. I myself, needed the bathroom.

The motel was the Holiday Inn Express in Springfield. Bonnie had paid for the room. Check-in was at 3:00 PM, but the clerk had let us check in an hour early.

The room was typical Holiday Inn Express with two double beds, blue and white check carpeting, the appropriate number of tables, chairs, lamps and fixtures, a surprisingly large bathroom with a Jacuzzi that neither of us had suspected, a wide-screen TV and a nice view of the pool and the south parking lot. The lot was triangular, as was the property on which the motel sat, adjacent to I-95.

"Room 411 welcomes you," I muttered. Letting the door close behind me, I ushered Bonnie inside and left her standing uncertainly by the first bed while I drew back the curtains and looked outside. We had a small balcony with just enough room to accommodate a chair, should one choose to sit outside and watch the sunbathers, were there any. A palm placed against the patio door told me I wanted to stay this side of the glass. It was 30 something outside and this high up, the wind would be the cold side of biting. Leaving the curtains drawn, I returned to Bonnie and stood before her. She place her head forlornly against my chest and I drew her against me and wrapped her with my arms.

"Uncle Jack, what are we doing?"

I had no answer for that question.

Yesterday, we'd spent the afternoon in her bed. That option was no longer open to us. Bonnie had a roommate and the roommate was home today, so the townhouse was off-limits. Her apology earlier had to do with the way she had approached and executed our bedtime together. Insensitive was a good term; perhaps brutal was better.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again.

I rocked her lowly back and forth, purse clutched in her right hand, the other limp at her side. I had no intention of repeating yesterday's debacle. I had no possible reason to hold back on the dream issue any more, but I couldn't bring it up here. We needed out of this room.

"Let's go to a movie," I said. "And get some dinner."

She raised her head and met my eyes. "I promise not to be like yesterday," she said. To prove this she stretched up and tried to kiss my lips. I pulled back, putting them out of reach.

"Not like this," I said. "Words are more appropriate right now. Let's talk about what's going on instead of attacking it head on." I touched her forehead with my own. "Don't think I don't want your kiss though, Bonnie. Believe me, I do. More than just about anything in the whole world." She had steadfastly avoided any emotional intimacy with me yesterday. If she offered it today, I wanted to deserve it.

"A movie and dinner afterward," I said. "No more brute force attacks. Find a back door and finesse our way in. See if we can unravel this mystery using common sense."

"A movie's good," she agreed slowly. Her eyes shown and she blinked rapidly and sniffed. "But don't even think about McDonalds, Uncle Jack." We both laughed.

* * *

The movie we saw was Life of Pi. I enjoyed it all but the final ten minutes. Bonnie had read the book and knew what to expect. I scolded her for not telling me beforehand. It gave me something other than my own dilemma to think about though. By mutual consent, we had engaged only in small talk since leaving the motel. As they had since yesterday afternoon, my thoughts were constantly disrupted by memories of Bonnie naked and me being inside her.

Bonnie suggested Ruby Tuesday's in Alexandria. We arrived just after 6 PM. I had spoken with Janice earlier and told her whom I was with, and what we doing. She thought it delightful that Bonnie and I were bonding. The temperature had dropped into the 20's and we hurried inside both complaining that we hadn't dressed warmly enough. The wait was half an hour and we made more small talk at the bar waiting. I explained the theory and actuality of football. She explained the philosophical underpinnings of Life of Pi. She had the advantage in understanding, though I did agree the French cook made a believable hyena and I could accept the premise of Gita as the baboon. Whether bananas float is arguable. I was encouraged by the lightening in her mood and said nothing to disrupt it. The hostess finally sat us.

"I'm still cold," Bonnie said. The booth was against the outer wall and gooseflesh erupted across her upper arms. She rubbed them, giving a little shiver.

"I'll ask for another booth," I said, twisting to raise my hand for the waiter. Bonnie laid a hand on my left hand and said no.

"I'll warm up. Coffee would help though."

I ordered us both decaf.

Following the appetizer, we both had a salad, mine Chef, hers with dried cranberries and cubes of broiled chicken. We discovered we were both quite hungry. I could tell she felt marginally better than she had earlier, more at piece with herself. I understood just how lousy she had felt earlier. Men do have the ability to understand that. Despite what situation comedies would have you believe. I ordered us refills on the decaf.

"Thank you," she said, nodding at the cup in her hands. "I'd be totally wired right now and totally useless." She cooled the hot surface with her breath. "I have to ask you something, Uncle Jack."

I nodded for her to proceed.

"It's not if you normally drink decaf coffee, either."

I grinned wryly and nodded. She blew on the coffee again.

"Am I totally nuts?"

I shook my head. "Dreams can be a powerful force in your life, Bonnie. Dreaming about any one thing, or any one person night after night takes a toll on your equilibrium. I know that."

She nodded with a subtle, You have no idea roll of the eyes. I debated if it was time to bring it up. It wasn't, not quite yet.

"I feel so horrible for what I did yesterday. And how I did it. I really took advantage of you, Uncle Jack."

"In what way?"

She raised her eyebrows and snorted.

"It wasn't like that at all. I don't regret it, Bonnie. You should find it obvious, how much I like you."

Her shoulders hunched uncomfortably. "I suspected, I guess. I just never expected it would lead to us being in bed together."

"Normally it wouldn't," I agreed.

"Normally." A long pause. "The truth is, I still don't understand the mental route I took to get from Point A, to Point B. It's just not logical. Or even reasonable. Or rational," she complained, her brow furrowed deeply. "I'm not sure I was capable of rational thought yesterday at all though." Her face colored deeply. "I do things in those dreams that I've never done with anyone else. Things I'd be humiliated for you to know about. Things I'm embarrassed to admit I enjoyed."

I laughed softly. "Confession is good for the soul, Bonnie."

"A good night's sleep is better," she said.

I waited a moment, and then said: "I have something to tell you, Bonnie."

She looked at me over the rim of her cup.

"It's about your dreams."

"I won't describe them," she warned. "So don't ask."

I shook my head. "Let me describe mine."

I recounted my first dream of her at the family outing; she cocked her head thoughtfully. When I recapped the football stadium dream her eyes widened in shock and her mouth dropped open when I detailed the events in the log cabin.

"Those are my dreams!" she exclaimed. "How can you be dreaming my dreams?" She placed her hands either side of the coffee mug on the table. "Did I talk in my sleep last night? Is that how you know about them?"

I stared at her in consternation. There had been no sleeping, and no last night either. She'd seen me out the front door (booted is more accurate, but so un-politically correct) at just after 6 PM, stone-faced and ready for tears. She remembered this and shook her head dismissively. I remained confounded that my suspicion was right, that we'd not just been dreaming of each other, but sharing the same dreams. I'd begun to suspect the moment she confessed the happenings yesterday. It didn't make it any more believable.

"It's coincidence," she denied flatly. "I just had dreams similar to those and I'm cross-linking details. People don't dream the same dreams."

"Those were my first three dreams," I clarified. "I've had plenty, plenty more. What order did the similar ones occur for you?"

She continued shaking her head.

"I didn't tell you this yesterday because I thought you'd go nuts on me. Accuse me of trying to entrap you somehow, use your emotional vulnerability to my advantage. Bonnie, I have no reason to lie about this, or try to make it up as I go along. You're calm enough now to see that something other than coincidence, or deceit, is going on here."

She refused to believe any part of it. I sighed, asked if I should take her home. She nodded firmly, but then less decisively shook her head. She bit her lower lip.

"There's no reason for you to lie about this," she said.

I shook my head in agreement.

"You've already fucked me. You have nothing to gain by lying." I winced. She ignored it. "I'm still vulnerable, though, and I'm trying to make up for my insensitivity yesterday by being with you again today, and tonight, and you're putting that at risk by telling me this. Either you're really stupid, or you're telling me the truth, consequences be damned." She leaned forward. "Are you lying to me, Uncle Jack?"

I shook my head.

"You're willing to sacrifice being with me tonight?"

I nodded.

She sat back and sighed deeply, looking away. Tears were in her eyes.

"This just makes things so much worse."

* * *

It was just after midnight. I lay on my side with Bonnie spooned in against me. I had one arm pillowing her head and the other crossing her, my hand cupping her right breast. She breathed slowly and easily in my arms. Semen leaked out of me and wet her buttocks. She was squeamish about semen and I felt her stiffen. I had laughed my head off earlier when she insisted I give her a mouthful to swallow and had then gagged and spewed it back out into her cupped hands, which only grossed her out more. I think her aversion is adorable; that angers her to no end. Apparently, she has never successfully swallowed a mouthful of sperm unless high on coke, which makes her incredibly horny. She admitted to asking for and enjoying anal sex when she's high. I didn't ask for, or perform anal sex with her tonight. I would enjoy it, yes, you bet I would, but that's Bonnie's decision, just as it was her decision to take me orally.

I nuzzled the side of her neck and the underside of her jaw. She shivered and laughed silently. "It's hard to believe we fit together so well," she said.

She wasn't referring to our current nested positions. In my 15 years of marriage to Janice I had never had so intense a sexual relationship as I'd experienced with Bonnie tonight. With any other woman. Yesterday paled in comparison. Yesterday was better forgotten, or leastwise, never mentioned again. Regret doesn't begin to cover it.

"I take all the credit," I said.

She laughed. "Men do that. Men are so clueless. Are you clueless, Uncle Jack?"

"Maybe I am. All these years I overlooked the yin to my yang. The click to my clack. The grease to my bearings."

She laughed again. "I was 12 when I met you. I was a little young to go around clicking my yin or clacking your yang, or greasing your bearings." She laughed delightedly. "The grease to your bearings?"

"Metaphorically challenged, I know." I nuzzled her neck again. "It's amazing to feel this excellent without the assistance of controlled substances."

"We are high," she countered, "On endorphins."

I squeezed her lovingly, especially that wonderful breast in my right hand. I coaxed her nipple into bursting hardness, making her squirm. "Thank you for trusting me not to give you anything," I whispered.

"Condoms protect the wearer too," she pointed out.

"Thank you for trusting you not to give me anything," I appended.

She giggled. "I thought I did rather well giving you things tonight."

I rotated her mouth upward with my left arm and claimed her lips. Her words had done the impossible: generating another erection between her buttocks.

"Uncle Jack!" she protested. "You can't be."

I slid her beneath me, spread her legs and effortlessly invaded her lush wetness. Even as she groaned "You can't possibly want me again, Uncle Jack," her arms snaked around my neck and her knees nested in against my ribs and she resumed her moaning and joyful whimpering.

* * *

On the drive back to the motel we compared notes. Not every dream of mine had a corresponding entry in her diary, nor hers in mine. Most dreams varied to some degree; locations, participants, circumstances. The most vivid dreams, like the one in the log cabin when I fixated on her adorable pink anus, varied the least in detail. To my surprise, her version included me taking her there on her hands and knees.

"I can't tell you how unnerved I was, waking from that one," she muttered darkly. Under gentle pressure, she admitted to having fought equally for and against the experience. She volunteered that I had come inside her without benefit of a condom. Yesterday the condom never came off. Tonight, it never went on. I never brought up nor suggested through action that we have anal sex. I left her breathtaking little orifice alone.

The cabin was not alone in the unexpected sexual intercourse department. Almost every dream of Bonnie's included or ended in the two of us having sex. I revealed how different this was from my own experience. And how I couldn't explain that. She regarded me speculatively for a moment. And then giggled and looked away, palm over her mouth.

"What?" I demanded.

She laughed throatily, a wonderful sound.

"Bonnie?"

"You're a man," she snorted.

I didn't see the connection. And then I did. I began to laugh too, thinking of the stadium/armory dream and how I'd been 'arguing about tickets'. After a bit we both sobered.

"Why do you think we're joint dreaming?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I can't tell you why salmon swim upstream, either. Does it really matter? Actually, I do know why." She leaned over and for the first time, kissed me on the lips.

* * *

"You really think that's the reason?" I asked.

Bonnie mumbled something into her hair. It covered her face, a completely wild mess that reminded me of strewn hay. I revealed her right eye with a fingertip. She blew a lock away from her nose. I had discovered earlier what a grump she was after being sexually ravished.

"The reason for what?"

"Sharing our dreams."

Without opening her eyes she blew the offending lock of hair in two directions. I cleared her some breathing space.

"Thank you," she muttered.

I gave her breast a squeeze. She squeezed my testicles in return. Very gently.

"Do you want some deep, dark, conspiratorial explanation instead?" she asked.

"I'm cool with yours," I admitted. Anything bringing Bonnie and I together was A+ in my book. I raised her right leg and slipped a finger into her sodden vagina.

"You're not serious." Her body stiffened defensively but she didn't attempt to stop me. I had discovered Bonnie had a certified G-spot. She jerked when I turned it on. "Oh, my God," she moaned, slipping her hand beneath mine, and seeking out her panic button. She began to motor along under internal and external combustion both. I hoped to reduce her to a quivering blob of Jell-O. She was almost there now. I suspected she'd want a piston in her other internal combustion chamber soon. Her bottom grinding against me was a pretty good clue. So was the way she began to position herself. And position me with her free hand. I was Viagra hard for the 20th time that night. "I'm ready, Uncle Jack," she moaned. In her ear I asked in a whisper if she really wanted to do this.

She nodded disjointedly, arched her spine, positioned the head of my penis against her anus, and worked herself onto it with a gasp. I held her gently and let her get used to my presence, and then pushed my way slowly inside her. A shudder ran through her as my entire length buried itself inside. I had never taken a woman before in one unbroken thrust. She began to shiver uncontrollably.

"If you don't stop that," I said a little desperately. "This will be the world's shortest unauthorized excursion."

She laughed under her scarecrow mop. I groaned as she repositioned her bottom and swallowed another inch of me, the last inch I had.

"I can see why you like this so much. You're a sadist," I whispered. "This is torture banned under the Geneva Conventions."

We'd moved no more than a couple shifting unconsciously in our sleep, yet here I was, heart banging like a fist against my ribcage, lungs laboring, blood pressure somewhere in the imminent stroke range; I felt like a filmed couple moving in ultra slow motion. I wrapped Bonnie tight in my arms and slowly began to fuck her asshole.