Aftermath

"Connie, I can't do that," I said, shaking my head.

"Yes, you can, because I want you to," she answered. "He's lonely. He needs someone, and I can't give him that any more."

"He's also your husband," I said. I could hardly believe what she was saying.

"Helen, look," she said. "It's almost two years since the accident. I haven't gotten any better, and I know I never will." She looked down at her body in her wheelchair. "I'll never even be able to live at home again."

They had been married for twenty years. I had seen pictures of her before the accident, and she had been an attractive woman, with a vivacious sparkle to her. Now she was solemn, and her blouse and slacks did nothing to hide her wasted limbs.

She looked back up at me, her quiet brown eyes focused intently on mine.

"Have you said any of this to Jerry?" I asked.

"Yes." She nodded.

"And what did he say?"

"Just what you did. And I told him just what I'm telling you. I can't give him what he needs...but you can, and if he's going to sleep with someone, I want it to be you."

It was totally unreal, and I couldn't help wondering if Connie's mind was deserting her just as her body had.

"You're a good person," she was saying. "You and he get along, and I know you would do this for the right reasons. Besides, you're almost his wife anyway."

I looked startled, and she said, "You do the cooking, the cleaning, the wash, you take care of him and the house. I know you like him, and he likes you, and I like you. So it wouldn't upset me if you took care of him as a man."

I took a long breath in through my nose, while I played out the possible future in my mind. No matter how I looked at it, it didn't make sense.

Finally I said, "I'm sorry, Connie, I justcan't."

She looked sad. I could see her eyes the whole way back to the house.

* * *

I was standing at the sink rinsing out a glass when Jerry came in. He usually smiled and said, "Hi!" but now he looked awkward.

"Hi," I said, looking quickly back at the glass.

"Hi," he answered, standing in place at the door.

"I didn't get a chance to start supper yet," I said, then thought about what Connie had said about my being almost his wife. Originally, making supper wasn't supposed to be part of my job. I was supposed to come in after breakfast and take care of the house, and that was it. But gradually things just took on a life of their own and grew. Now, Jerry and I ate supper together, and sometimes I would stay and we'd watch a ball game. It was just way more fun than doing the same thing alone. But that was where it ended, because Jerry would never do anything to hurt Connie.

As I turned to put the glass in the dishwasher, Jerry walked over to where I was standing. I glanced up, and I saw the hard, pondering look in his eyes.

He took a breath and said, "Connie talked to you." He must've known by the way I was acting.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Well, I want you to know that..." he laced and unlaced his fingers, "...you don't have to worry about it."

I dragged my lower lip out from under my front teeth. Suddenly I was very conscious of how close we were. And of the attraction between us. My heart started to beat faster. Therewas an attraction. I had always cloaked it under the guise of friendship, but now I had to tell myself the unvarnished truth. We had been flirting with Connie's idea, in a very veiled way, before she had ever said anything.

"I didn't know what to say to her," I said.

He gave a short, dark laugh.

Slowly I turned toward him. It was time to make things plain. So I said, "Well, can I ask you then...do you...have somebody?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, "I'd never do that to her."

I nodded. Then he said, "What about you? Do you have someone?"

"No." I looked into the air, which suddenly seemed to be thick and charged, then turned toward the counter. I wanted to ask him...but it was none of my business...but I had to.

"So how long has it been for you, then?"

"Well, since the accident...like two years."

"Mm."

His voice seemed to sneak out: "What about you?"

"Well, since my husband died, about a year and a half."

"Jeez, which of us is worse off," he said ironically.

I was suddenly aware that we had been moving closer to each other, now only a few inches apart. I was still facing the counter, and he was facing me. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and began to say, "Look,"

I looked into his face, and it was as if the whole world shifted onto a different axis. I saw what was in his eyes, and I felt what was in mine. In a second, what had been impossible was now certain. Oh, god, we couldn't deny it any more.

He turned me toward him and put his arms around me. I let my arms go around his neck, and he drew me closer, bringing my body up against his. I could feel the beat of his heart. It was arousing, but also somehow reassuring. Jerry was as constant and good as a man could be. I had always trusted him implicitly, and I trusted him now. I wanted him to like me. I wanted to bring him pleasure. I ran my hands around to the front of him, down his chest, feeling how solidly he was built, and when I looked up at him I saw his flushed face, his open mouth, the intense look in his eyes. Then slowly he leaned toward me and I closed my eyes, and his lips met mine for the first time.

Crazy, electric feelings shot through me. I stood on tiptoe to press my mouth back against his, feeling like sparks were singeing my lips. His hands moved across my back, pulling me more tightly against him, and he licked his tongue over my lips. I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to his, hearing him gasp, feeling the sudden rise between his legs. I could barely squeeze the breath into my lungs, the hot ache blooming deep inside me. I ran my fingers down over his buttocks and he groaned softly, hardly able to hold his body still.

"Helen," he whispered, his hands coming up to touch my breasts, making me forget my sanity. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and before I knew it he scooped me up, carrying me like a fireman up the steps and to his room. It was almost dark there. When he set me down my whole body slid over his, and with hasty, jerky movements we snatched each other's clothes off. The drive for satisfaction was too strong, and too long denied, for us to be timid any more. I wanted to rip his shirt to shreds, and he could barely undo the buttons of mine. And finally when he had yanked his jeans off and we both stood there naked, he caught me in his arms, grasping my backside and plastering my body against his. I could barely see him—it was too dim in the room—but I could feel him, and god, he felt good. His hands, trembling, ran all over my body, finally daring to touch my softest parts, and when I ran my palm over his hardest one he gave me a sound of urgent pleasure. I liked that, knowing that what I was doing felt so good to him. It made me want to do more.

I began to sink to my knees, kissing down his chest, dragging my teeth across his belly, plunging my tongue into his navel. I heard his harsh breathing; I knew what he wanted me to do. "Jerry, Jerry," I murmured, unable to hold back my smile. "Let me taste your cherry." And I rubbed my tongue over it, then took it between my lips. But that was all I could do because, with a sound somewhere between delight and frustration, he grabbed me up and started walking me to his bed. Arms around me he fell back onto the mattress, pulling me down on top of him, looking at me with an expression that made me think if fire could come from his eyes the whole world would be reduced to a cinder. "Do you want me, Helen?" he asked, and I could hardly speak, but I whispered, "Yes."

With a low, guttural sound he flipped us over, covering me with his body. "Well, you want my cherry so bad," he said, almost growling, and he caught my hand and curled it around him. "I want yours too, so—" and he pushed himself in, "—take it." And I went spiraling up into the stratosphere, arching up into him to get all of him. He buried himself inside me with a hot force that swept through me like a tornado. Time, place, logic, everything was meaningless except what was happening between us. All that mattered was the hard length of him sliding within me, his deep, devouring kisses, the way he rasped out my name through his clenched teeth. It was so good I could hardly bear it, and I never wanted it to end. "Oh, Jerry, do it slow, make it last," I said, hearing the bottom drop out of my voice. "Make it last all night, if you can..."

"You like it..." It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh, god, yes."

"I like it," he said, his mouth at my ear. "I love it." And he clasped me in his arms and rolled us over. "You do it to me."

Whatever modesty I had was long gone now, and I rode him with shameless abandon, rubbing on him, pushing him softly with my curled hands. He touched me everywhere he could reach, whispering to me in dark words that would have seemed nasty any other time, but now they heightened the pleasure until it overwhelmed me. I quivered from deep inside and then shook all over, hanging my head, arching my back, making incoherent sounds. When I finally came back to reality my face was pressed into his shoulder, and my lips were wet with my saliva. Finally I pulled myself together, swallowing, raising myself up to look at him. I could only just make out his expression. It was one of burning arousal, his eyes narrowed, his lips open and thrust forward, and yet he was not moving, he was holding still until I was ready to go on.

"Jerry," I murmured, knowing how he wanted me to talk. "Do you want to come..."

"Yeah," he breathed, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"Then you do it to me."

He turned us over again—the bedcovers were tangled and messy now—and he started to move, this time fiercely, explosively almost. I started to swear as he'd done, and I could see on his face that it was having the same effect on him as it had on me. When I knew he could delay his pleasure no more I reached up and grabbed him by the hair—he shook his head, looking enraged, and pushed me back into the bed, his body shuddering, pounding inside me. "God damn!" he growled, the words coming out savage. Then, as he pulled away, he exhaled slowly, and when he lay beside me he took me in his arms and cradled me. I leaned my forehead against his chest, feeling like I wanted to weep just because so many pent-up emotions had finally been released. "Oh, Jerry," I said softly, tremulously.

"Hey." He stroked the hair back off my face with his thumb. The voice was his normal voice again. "Are you okay?"

I forced myself to calm down. "Yeah, I'm alright," I answered, nodding against him.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I pulled back and I saw the concern in his eyes. "I won't always be that rough," he said quickly. "It's just...hard to control yourself when it's been such a long time."

"Well, you didn't hurt me," I said. "I—well, that was..." there was no word I knew that would adequately describe it. "You knocked my socks off."

"Yeah, well, you knocked mine off too."

In another situation I would have returned a soft laugh, but there were too many emotions at play here, so I just nodded against him.

"I think," I said, "if Connie says anything, we should lie."

I felt him nod; then he said, "She'll see it, though. She's a good judge of people."

"Well, if you regret it—"

His fingers ran back and forth over my shoulder. "Let's not talk about regretting things, OK?"

"Well, I don't want to destroy—"

"Helen," he said, more forcefully, and lay his hand on my cheek. "Let's just let it be what it'll be."

"OK," I said, so softly it was barely more than a click.

He leaned in and he kissed me, slowly, gently, like a man in love. So I decided to let it be that—to let it be love—and I kissed him back, then snuggled into him and tenderly went to sleep.