Back Door Woman: Sunday, A.M.

I turned away. Quickly. Then back again, challenging her.

"He's a friend, J. You just said. So doesn't he know certain things, too? And, if not, why not? Why don't you tell him these things?" I paused. Looked down. Looked back up at her again. "He says you're softening. He says you're getting close to saying 'yes' to marrying him." I snapped out those last words.

She stared at me. Eyes again. Large and wide. Narrowed and questioning. Accusing.

"He said this to whom?" she inquired, eyes still narrowed.

"To meem, that's whom," I replied, not able to hide my frustration, or anger, or both.

"When did he say this to you? How?" she asked sharply.

I suddenly felt very stupid. Dare I tell her? She'll be livid. Get it over. Get it over.

"I . . . uh . . . I called him on the phone. Pretended I was a reporter and asked him questions about TAOS-CASA so I could find out about you. You and Schmaaaaaablooo." I grew braver. "There. Are you happy?" I can't believe I just told her that. She is going to explode. She cannot abide lying.

Her eyes were huge, full of disbelief. They had not yet moved to the mad stage with all the gold flecks in them. No gold yet. No, don't wanna go for the gold with J. What is she doing? Her head is down. What, what, why is she sobbing. Looking down, sobbing. Oh, God. It's true. She's going to marry him. She's crying because she doesn't want to tell me. Shit. Fuck. What now. Now head up and she is crying but she is laughing, too. She's not going to kill me? No?

"You little asshole," she laughed. Her hands briefly touched my cheeks, then fell away. "You actually called the man? Fucking called him?" I shook my head affirmatively, but tentatively. She resumed. "Kiefer." She shook her head slowly from side to side. "You have had me scared to death since yesterday evening. I thought you'd come to tell me goodbye, except that you were going to be a chicken shit and not say it. Just fuck me goodbye and ride off into the sunset." Her hands came to my face again as she spoke, palms to my cheeks. She was still laughing and crying. I was confused. Her laughing crying. Me a chicken shit.

"Fuck you in the sunset?" I asked, removing her hands.

"No, you idiot. Ride into the sunset. Fuck me then ride."

She said nothing more. "Why are you crying?" I asked. "And laughing? What's so fuckin' funny? I didn't come here to say goodbye and I'm not a chicken shit. Do you think I'm such a shit that I'd actually do that?"

"I'd hoped not. But you hadn't said anything. And you were acting so weird."

"Whaddya mean weird? I'm not weird."

Pregnant pause.

"Are you marrying him?" I asked, cautiously, softly.

She shook her head 'no.'

"Why?" I paused. "Because you don't love him?" I asked, more hopefully than I'd intended.

She shook her head 'no' again. What the hell does that mean? She does love him?

I tried again. "You mean you do love him, but you're just not marrying him?" Still no answer. I resumed. "What's the reason you're not marrying him? Tell me, J. Tell me why."

"I . . . well . . . I," she stuttered. She looked down. She was silent. How long is she going to be silent.

"Tell me, J." It was a command. I was frustrated.

"I," she started again. She looked up at me, slowly shaking her head left and right. She bit her top lip. "I can't," she said sadly, looked down, looked up again, straight in my eyes, "I can't," she repeated, blinked, "because I can't spell his last name."

Immediately her mouth formed a huge grin, splitting her face from side to side. Her eyes lit up like green Christmas light bulbs. The giggling began and would not stop. Her whole body shook, arms and shoulders moving up and down. Oh, god. She was kidding me, carrying me high. My heart was pounding. I slapped my forehead and then started hitting her left arm, then her right, with the palm of my right hand.

"You bitch," I laughed. "You scared shit outta me."

Then I grabbed her by the upper arms, pulled her close. Unwillingly let her go when she pulled away.

"Well, you, sir, scared the shit out of me." She paused, looked down, looked up again, shyly. "Not, really, I was just very sad." Another pause, looking down. She raised her eyes to mine. "So, you're not here to say goodbye?" she asked as she tilted her head to one side.

"No," I shook my head. "I'm here to knock Pablo off his pedestal."

"Pablo's not on a pedestal. And you're not jealous." She looked me straight in the eyes. "What gives? Really?"

"I . . . uh. I don't know. I've asked myself the same question. But I don't know. I think my biological clock is ticking."

The eyes got huge again. Suddenly, she guffawed, practically snorted. Loud. She was laughing at me. At me.

"Biological clock? Good, god, Kiefer." Her body was quaking with laughter. I didn't see what was so funny. She guffawed yet again and then spoke.

"You're a baby, you idiot," she grinned. "Your clock isn't even winding down yet. If it's the clock you're worried about, go out and spread some seed. You can have more babies. Just don't look at me 'cause you know I don't have the parts. Thank, god."

"Babies?" I shrieked. And I mean shrieked. I finished my sentence.

"I'm not talking about babies."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?" she asked, puzzled. "That's usually what people mean when they say biological clock."

"I'm talking about my time to get . . . to keep," I hesitated then finished, "a relationship. That clock."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. They softened and she took my left hand in both of hers, kissed the back of it.

"Oh, sweetie. I don't think a relationship by average people's standards will ever be in your stars." Then she grinned. A not nice, smart ass grin. "You're a Sagittarian. You're a Canadian. You're a bona fide psychotic." She was still grinning.

"Fuck you," I said. I wanted to really hit her. I was hurt. "J. I mean it. I'm serious. I'm sad."

Her face. Pain. She reached for me. Held out both arms and took me into her safe world. My safe world.

After a moment or two, she let me go and pulled back, looking me straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was tying to cheer you up. Do you want me to get the fuck outta your life? You know I will if that makes you happy. You do know that, don't you?" She was quite serious. I could have squeezed her to death for that.

"I don't want you out of my life. I can't live without you in my life. I know that. You know that. Why say it? Why say that I could?"

"Well, what do you want? You know I'm here for you. You know the rules. Abide by them and I am here. I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You know that by now, surely."

I didn't respond and she continued. "What's up with the Pablo thing, sweet?"

"I dunno," I said. I was serious. I didn't know.

"So, you're thinking I'm married to Pablo, and . . ."

I interrupted her, "Schmablooo."

"Stop it, shithead. His name is Pablo."

I mocked her. "Stop it, shithead. His name is Pablo."

She smacked me, hard, on the chest.

Silence. Then I asked her.

"Did you really, really think I would walk out and not say anything?"

"I didn't know." She said it softly. God, she really did think that. I must be a bigger shit than I thought. I'd hurt her more than once. I knew that. But for her to think that? Her voice interrupted my train of thought.

"So, I'm married to Pablo and what?" she continued. "You didn't finish."

"And, so, you're married. And, so, maybe he's not so understanding."

"Of what," she asked.

"Of . . . of us. So, I never . . . I never see you again." Finally, I got it out, as much for me as for her. No, more for me. That's what it is. That's what I'm afraid of. Ahhhhh.

"And this would bother you?" Her head tilted to the side as she asked this question.

"Oh, for god's sake, J. No, it wouldn't bother me at all. Fuck off and move to Katmandu for all I care." I was exasperated. Miss her. Bother me. How stupid.

She grinned. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

She was quiet for about half a minute. A long time. Then she looked at me. And spoke.

"You know that I've always tried to be honest with you, right? And that I've always encouraged you to be honest, too? I mean, I know you're honest. What I mean is honest about wanting out? Or whatever bothers you. About us. Or anything."

I was shaking my head affirmatively as she spoke. She was not clear, obviously, about where she wanted to go with this.

"Kiefer. I am a stubborn, old broad. I . . . "

I interrupted the 'stubborn old broad' talk by rolling my eyes.

She began again. "I can't figure out why I compromise my principles for you. Perhaps I don't really have any. Perhaps you just make me . . . well . . . compromise. In spite of my resolve, in spite of being a stubborn old broad," she threw me a shut up look, "I just can't seem to live without you. I don't ever want to be without you. For the rest of my life. I can live without fucking you. But I don't know if I can live without hearing you. Hearing from you. Knowing how you are. Being aware of your ups and downs. I learned from our, well, our 'off' time a few years ago that I care greatly about your well-being. Do you think that I would marry someone, commit to someone, and fail to provide a way to continue to have contact with you?"

I stared at her. Blinked. So she is marrying him. And keeping the contact door open. I said as much. "You're marrying him and going to send me an occasional e-mail."

She looked annoyed. "I am not marrying anybody!"

"Would you marry me?" I inquired matter-of-factly.

"Oh, God, no," she said, shaking her head left and right. "First off you don't mean that and second off I wouldn't last two months! I'd murder you. Really. Dead. Prison attire is orange. No woman should wear orange."

I laughed. She'd made me laugh, as usual. But something still bothered me. I thought for a moment. We eyed one another rather cautiously. Finally, I spoke. "I think I'm really mad that you thought I'd leave you without saying anything."

She looked at me. Closely. "I don't blame you if you're mad," she said. "It wasn't nice of me. I think I made it O.K., your leaving, by telling myself that you'd only do it, not say anything, because it would hurt too much to tell me. Made me feel better anyway."

"You really thought I was saying goodbye?"

"Yessss. You showed up unexpectedly, unannounced . . ." Pause. She drew an audible breath. A strange look. Big eyes. "Oh . . . my . . . god. You were trying to catch him here, weren't you, you little shit?" she screamed. Slapped my arm. "You little fuckhead!" She gave me a light slap on the side of my head, then rubbed the same place softly with her warm, damp palm. "You thought he might be here, didn't you? Well, let me tell you something, fuckhead, it would not have been pleasant." She was shaking her head up and down now, quickly, shallowly. "I know. I know what it's like. What it's like to see, to see . . . ."

She trailed off and looked down at the remaining bubbles.

I knew what she was thinking. I took her upper arms in my hands, squeezed them softly. She looked up. Looked me straight in the eyes. Tears brimming on the edges. Oh, god, no, please don't cry. Can't bear it when you cry.

"I'm sorry that you're sad." She reached out and touched my left cheek. Touched it softly, then let her hand fall. "I'm sorry that you think you need to be in a relationship and it doesn't seem to work out for you. I can't fix that for you, sweet."

I dropped my hands from her arms. She smiled wryly. "You're not a very tactful man, y'know. You're not exactly interested in monogamy. You're not exactly interested in being with the same person twenty-four seven. In fact, when you're working, you're not interested in much of anything else. What can I say? You don't behave in such a way as to make a permanent relationship possible. Well, easy anyway. You get bored too easily!"

"I know. I do know that, y'know. But, but I am growing. I am getting older. I'm not the kid you knew so many years ago. I think about some things differently." I looked her in the eyes. Those green, frank, loving, forgiving eyes.

She smiled. "Are you? Growing? What's different for you now?" She looked genuinely interested.

Hmmm. Deep breath.

"I know that I'm an idiot. I know that I'm crazy for not being with you all the time, holding you, keeping you near, making you happy." I meant it.

Her smile now was a sad one. A smile, but sad.

"That's sweet of you, baby. But you know that that's not possible. You know that we would both be miserable . . . for different reasons."

I couldn't talk anymore. Too deep right now. I looked down at the bubbles. Picked up a handful and blew them towards her face. She smiled. Different now. She understood.

I put my head down, raised my eyes and shot her an evil look. "Wanna play horsey," I growled.

"Horsey?" She sat up straight. Eyes round. "Me horsey, you horsey?" she asked, a tinge of wickedness in her eyes.

"No, no. You hobbit hole, me horsey," I exclaimed.

"Ah. So many 'h' words. I can't keep 'em straight." She looked into my eyes intently. Purposefully.

"Do you really," she emphasized 'really' as she reached out to touch lightly my arm, "want to play horsey, or are you just trying to please me?" she tenderly asked.

I knew what had made her ask this. One of my old hang-ups. I thought I'd convinced her that I had really changed about the horsey thing. At least, with her anyway. I'd even done it with other women, a few.

"Both," I assured her. I reached out to touch her face. "I really want to play horsey. And I really want to please you. God, J. I guess I just can't explain, convince. I . . . am fine, fine, with this now. Really I am."

She didn't look convinced. I tried to ease her concern, make her laugh. "You're a good little shrink. A good little shrink with a tight ass. A good little shrink with a tight ass and an even tighter hobbit hole!" I explained as my head bobbed up and down, emphasizing certain words as I spoke them.

She didn't react how I thought she would. I expected her to smack me and laugh. Instead, she leaned over and placed her cheek on my chest. The water was no longer warm enough to enjoy. I placed my arms around her, hugging her butt with my hands.

"Wanna get out now? Water's . . . "

"Cold," she finished for me. "Yesss."

J quickly got out of the tub. I wasn't as quick. My mind darted to the first time we played horsey. J introduced me to woman on top. Not that I didn't know about woman on top. I just didn't want woman on top. Too much control. Theirs. I remember the first time. Well, with J. I suppose I'd probably done it before. When a young Turk. Still able to keep it up when really drunk. I'm sure I must've. But I don't remember it. And I remember the others. The others since. Since J taught me. Soothed me into it. No, not me in control she said. You. You control. Your hands on my waist, my hips. You control how fast. How slow. How deep. You. You control. Yeah. Like she wasn't in control from the first second. Thank god, or we wouldn't be about to play horsey now.

"Are you coming?" I heard her ask in a really depraved tone.

I looked up. She was wet. Glistening. Lips parted. Eyes dancing. Nipples hard, hard, poking out and calling the horsey. Questioning, asking again, even more depraved. "Are you coming," and she stressed the word coming in a most wanton way.

"Uh." I laughed. "Maybe. Almost."

"Well, stop it, boy. Grab it and hold it in!" she giggled. "C'mon," she urged, "get outta the tub."

I climbed out. Cock leading the way.

She stood in front of me, still wet, holding out her left hand to me. I took it with my right. We headed, both wet, to the bed.

I wanted this. I wanted to fuck her slow, too. Me on top. Slow. But where I was now I wouldn't last as long as I wanted to. But next time. After this. I could last. But there's enough for her to ride. Ride the horsey.

J leapt into the bed. The middle of it. Faced me on her knees. Laughing. She clapped her hands in front of her. Clap, clap, clap, clap.

"Let's play horsey, daddy!" she squealed and bounced up and down, still on her knees. "Let's play horsey!" She looked younger than her years. Her face full of mischief.

I just stood, watching her, shaking my head. She killed me. Just killed me. Made my cock rock hard. Like when she does the 'daddy, I've been a baaad little girl' thing. I was too busy staring at her, wondering at her, to move.

She patted the bed with one hand, then extended the other out to me, palm up. She bent the fingers in, then extended them again, repeatedly, calling the horsey.

"C'mere, big fella," she soothed. "C'mon." The fingers kept up their invitation.

I jumped into the bed, keeping up the theme. "It's a rough horse, little girl. You'd better be ready to ride!"

"Ooooo. I'm a good rider, really I am. Wanna see?" she asked. So wicked.

"Ya," I said. "I vish to see you ride the horsey."

I was on my back, reaching to get more pillows to put behind me. I wanted a good view, an elevated view. She helped me get the pillows in place then leaned over me, suddenly serious. She began to kiss me on the mouth. Soft, then harder, then soft again, ending by licking my lower lip.

She spoke very softly. "I'm glad you're not saying goodbye. I'm glad that I'll see you again." She ran the back of her right hand across my forehead.

"Me, too."

We just stared at one another for a moment. Finally, I couldn't stand the building tension. Not the sexual tension, but the other. Fuckin' Schmablo. Not see her again. No, too hard.

"So," I said. "You gonna ride this thing backwards or forwards?"

She raised up. Looked down at me. "Do you have a preference, Mr. Horsey?" She chuckled.

"Uh, no. I'm just the beast of burden. Do as you will," I said, sighing loudly, as if I had no say in the matter.

"Beast of burden," she screamed. Her little fists came down on me, raining blows on my chest. "You jackass! If you consider it a burden, well, then, I'll just find another beast to carry me . . . I'll bet I can find someone . . . "

I interrupted her tirade, stopping her fists by wrapping my palms around them. "Calm down, Miss National Velvet, calm down. I'm a willing beast. And I'm the horse! I'm supposed to be the temperamental one, not you." She stopped struggling, but her face was still playfully arguing. She closed one eye in mock anger.

I continued to push her buttons. On purpose. "You're supposed to soothe your beast, y'know, treat him well, ride him because you need to . . . want to . . . have to." She was rolling her eyes, shaking her head. "You can't stay away from his beautiful form, his strength, his high spirits . . . "

She jerked her hands out of mine. She placed her palms on my face and pressed my cheeks tightly. "I'm gonna put a bit in your mouth if you don't shut up! Horses don't talk!"

She bent down and started kissing me again. Good kisses. Sweet then fiery kisses as she progressed. She raised her body, left knee came over to straddle me, her right one remaining on my left side. She leaned down, let her nipples brush my chest. My cock was so hard it stuck into her belly, inviting her to ride now. C'mon, little girl. She moved her body down, took my cock in her hand, encircled it with her palm and fingers, moved her mouth to the head, kissing it as if it were a long lost love. God. Watching her kiss my cock, feeling it, watching her feel it. Making love to it.

She abruptly sat up, placed her hand on my chest. Just as abruptly brought her right leg from a knee balanced position up to balancing on her foot. Her hand returned to the bed. The shift left her wide open. I knew my eyes were equally wide. What a sight. Her slit was red, wet, swollen with desire, need. My fingers involuntarily headed to her hole. But not to be. Her fingers beat mine. She placed them inside of her, eyes closed, deep breath. She removed the fingers and held out her hand, this time with fingers closed into a fist.