Let Him Cry Pt. 02

I shook my head. "No. I wouldn't say that was true anymore." Her eyes widened. "But!" I said quickly before she could get apprehensive again. "But you were pretty clear on the rules, and I promised. Don't worry; you are thoroughly friend-zoned."

I felt like I could see each car in the train of thoughts that went through her mind: is he bullshitting me? ... no, I don't think he is ... does he not find me attractive? ... no, he was definitely looking for that scant second ... then why? ... 'cause he promised, I guess.

She smiled. "It's a good place to be."

We sat there, silent, both still a little awkward. Finally, to break the moment, I asked, "Was I that obvious with the pizza girl?"

She shook her head. "No. But I watch men's eyes a lot. It's survival in some of the situations I've been in."

"Sorry."

She dismissed it with a shrug. "You weren't a jerk and she wasn't a kid. I bet she knows those clothes get her better tips from guys."

"Meow."

She grinned, back to her usual self. She arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? And exactly how big was the tip you gave her?"

I took the mature route and threw a piece of cereal at her. I got the same "Is that the way you were raised?" look Terrell or Nia would have. She shook her head and went to make sure the kids were moving, turning back to say, "It's Taty. That's what my friends call me."

That evening, over our drink, "I know someone who owns a coffee shop. She's looking for help. The pay is only a buck or two above minimum wage, but there'll be tips and you wouldn't have to pay for daycare anymore. Interested?"

Taty looked at me in shock. "What?"

I explained about the job, Bela, Rafi, and the play area. I mentioned that Rafi would be in the same grade as Nia. "Maybe the two of you could arrange some kind of shared pick-up thing. Think about it and let me know. I should probably let her know tomorrow if you don't want it."

Right before we called it an evening, she said, "I'll try it for a day to see how we feel. What time do I need to be there?"

"Eight a.m."

She nodded. "Okay." She stood to take the empties into the kitchen, then turned back. "Hey, Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe next time — not that I expect there'll be a next time — check with me first before talking with someone about me taking a job? Not that I don't appreciate it," she added hurriedly, "but ..." She shrugged.

I realized that maybe there was some pride involved here. "Of course. I'm sorry."

"No problem."

This time I wasn't clueless. Saturday evening was a date.

Within the first hour at the site that morning, a message had spread through the women. I didn't see anything obvious; maybe it was pheromonal or something like a dog whistle that only a female could hear. But, somehow, the indulgent looks from some of the women made it clear that some communication had gone around.

At lunchtime, Ruth came out with her usual simpering-plus-batted-eyes, "Would you like to sit with the girls, Matt?"

I replied with my usual refusal-plus-eye-roll and headed for my usual Saturday lunchtime walk.

"Matt."

I turned to find Caitlyn following me down the driveway. "You'll miss girls' time," I said.

She frowned. She still didn't find much humor in that particular sparring. I did, but I relented. "Sorry."

"I wonder if I could take you out tonight." After a pause, "Or you could take me out. Either way's fine with me; I'm not sexist. Just no Dutch."

Honestly, it was a foregone conclusion. More than one night this week had been interrupted by an X-rated fantasy that featured a redhead. Other than some brief thoughts, my mind hadn't gone there in a while, nothing explicit since Liv got too sick to — My mind shied abruptly away from going there. Not since a long time ago. Now, evidently, that was back in my life also.

"I'll buy dinner," I answered. "You bring the wine. We can go to a place I like that's BYOB."

She shook her head. "Not with dinner. A glass later at my place."

I considered arguing; I liked wine with my meal. But I decided it wasn't a battle worth fighting.

An hour later, I finally turned to Ruth as I held one end of a piece of casement trim in place, "Okay, just say it. Get it over with."

She didn't respond, flashing me a "Who me?" before setting the nose of the gun in place and carefully fastening the wood. She worked her way along to where I could let go. "I got it from here. Cut the next one. Oh," she added as if an afterthought, "and don't forget a toothbrush."

Cackle.

The meal was unmemorable. I'm sure the food was good. Caitlyn made noises of appreciation. I'd enjoyed it every other time I'd been here, as had my customers.

However, Caitlyn had clearly dressed to impress, and I duly was. She knew what her assets were and the v-neckline on her dress hinted at some of them. Some of the others were hidden under the tablecloth, but I'd seen the flash of leg when I helped her into the car.

And those lips, I thought. They always seem like they've just been licked, but I never see her do it.

Yeah, I couldn't remember the food beyond "it was beef."

The conversation stayed far away from past relationships or any hint of bad times. More surprisingly, it stayed away from advice. The closest she got was poking some gentle fun at cranky patients while giving me a "strike a chord?" look. Instead, it was light-hearted and inconsequential and, if she did perhaps have to do a bit more than her share of the work, still I was able to join in with a story or two of my own and laugh at appropriate moments without faking it.

I wonder what she's thinking, and whether she's looking forward to that drink later. And maybe a little more of what came after last time? Those musings sent a little shiver through me.

I noticed her questioning expression and quickly rewound the mental tape to listen to what she had asked. "No, no dessert for me, but go ahead. I don't mind," I answered.

"No. How about we go and have that drink?"

This time, one glass turned into two — "I'm cutting us both off there" — as we sat on the couch again. Her heels were kicked off, and her legs were curled up underneath her.

I was finishing a slightly involved story about falling into a locked room while retrofitting Wi-Fi into an old building when I noticed that she had gone quiet and was just watching me with an expression I didn't recognize on her face.

"What? Am I boring you? Sorry. I—"

She leaned over and put her finger over my mouth. She shook her head and closed the distance. This time there was no doubt as, after a brief touch, then a second, I felt her lips part and her tongue trace along my lips. Her hand, the one without the glass, slid to the back of my neck, while mine settled on her hip.

After a long mutual exploration, she pulled back slightly. "Even at the end of dinner, I wasn't sure what I planned. Maybe another date would be a good idea? But ..." She settled back and took another sip, eyes cast down as if thoughts had turned inward for a second. She looked back up at me. "Stay tonight?"

It was surreal: I was twenty-one years old the last time I had sex with someone for the first time. That was more than a third of my life ago.

Our kisses turned more demanding, the faint scent and taste of cabernet playing high notes on top of a fragrance I didn't recognize. Her hand returned to my neck, then slid up to run through my hair. Mine caressed the small of her back, drawing her closer so that she bowed back into an arc: lips against mine, chest lightly brushing me, legs stretching back along the couch.

She pulled her mouth away — "Uncomfortable," she murmured — and squirmed her hips around. She placed her glass on the console table behind the couch and, pulling my closer leg up onto the seat, settled onto it. She wrapped both arms around my neck and then leaned in to resume what we were doing.

Only to pull back again. She took my glass from my hand and set it beside her own. "I expect you to need those hands about now," she said gravely, dancing eyes belying the serious tone.

I took that as an invitation and, as her lips closed back on mine, my hand filled with the luscious weight of a breast. She made a faint sound of pleasure as I cupped it, wriggling a little as I traced over the curve. I could feel the uneven texture of lace under my hand, but the sharp spike of hardened nipple tracing a line across my palm told me that it was woman underneath.

It was my turn to need to shift my hips, my incipient erection uncomfortably caught in the folds of my pants. She glanced down as I did, all smile gone, replaced by a look of desire. As I reached to adjust, she brushed my hand aside and cupped me, feeling the straining movement under her hand. Quelling my faint complaint with a kiss, she fumbled blindly with my belt and then the button and zipper.

I gasped as she wrapped her hand around me, then again when she let go. She reached for the buttons of my shirt. As I reached for her dress, she blocked me. "No! Ladies first. I get to unwrap my present before you do." Pulling the shirttails out, she drew it off my shoulders, then skimmed her hands over my chest. Sliding off the couch to her knees, my shoes followed, then my socks. "Lift!" Already-opened pants slithered down.

Slowing her feverish actions, she scooted closer and put both hands in the waistband of my underwear. She raised her eyes to mine and lifted the elastic away from my body, a little half-smile on her face indicating her enjoyment of my anticipation as she drew out the moment. Turning her attention downward, she slid off the last piece of clothing.

Without looking up, she placed one palm flat on my thigh and wrapped the other around the length. Then her mouth descended to engulf me.

I didn't last much longer than a minute. I managed to warn her moments before all ability to speak temporarily deserted me, and I felt the warm wetness against my abdomen as she raised her head to watch my face, her hand stroking rapidly and rhythmically.

When my paroxysmal breathing finally calmed, I opened my eyes to find her still watching me. I felt a smile breaking out. Hers answered. She glanced down. "You're a mess," she giggled.

A small laugh burst out of me. "Whose fault is that?"

She giggled again and stood. Stepping to the passthrough to the kitchen area, she grabbed a kitchen towel. The moment of shared humor was still reflected on her face, but the flush on her cheeks — that complexion couldn't hide anything — and the elevated breathing told me that the excitement was still there. "My turn," I said.

"You want to unwrap your present now?" she teased.

I shook my head. "I want you to take off your dress standing right there."

Her eyebrows went up.

"Take it off," I repeated, smiling but firm. She wasn't the only one who could be a trifle assertive in foreplay.

The humorous expression faded; the look of desire resurfaced. She made a production of it. It wasn't a striptease, but it was unhurried and deliberate. The buttons parted down the front to reveal the scarlet lace cups beneath. Halfway down, her hands moved to undo the dress's belt, letting it fall, then back to undo two more buttons. She paused — the flush spreading down her collarbone said she was savoring the moment as much as I — then reached to slide off one shoulder, then the other, letting the garment slither to a pool at her feet.

"Let your hair down." I gestured to the simple low-bun-ish thing. I didn't know what to call it; I was a guy.

She reached up and drew a couple of pins, fully aware that I appreciated what reaching up and back did for her figure. She lowered her head forward and gave it a shake, settling back to slightly, and delightfully, disheveled.

"Now ..." I nodded at her chest.

Front-closure, off in a second without contortion. Overflowing handfuls dropped free to sway with her movements, capped with pink.

Jesus! That's a centerfold there in front of me. I laughed at my sophomoric thoughts, bringing a questioning look from her. I shook my head. Never mind.

Her fingers strayed to the waist of the matching bottoms.

"No. I get to do that part."

She stopped.

"My very first real girlfriend taught me a thing."

"What was that?"

"When you get one, you give one." I waited for a second for the little flare in the eyes that showed understanding ... and anticipation.

I put out my hand and she walked forward to take it. Leaning forward, I planted a kiss through her panties directly between her legs. Hooking the edges of the leg openings with thumbs and forefingers, I drew them down slowly.

The carpet matches the drapes, I thought, placing another kiss on the closely trimmed curls as the lace cleared them, and she's ready for this.

As she lifted her second leg out, I slid one hand against the inside of her knee pushing outward, while the other reached around to cup a cheek, drawing her the extra step forward, her legs parting around my knees.

Tugging suddenly, I pulled her off balance, her knees hitting the cushion, hands thrusting forward to catch herself on the back of the couch. As she gave a startled yelp, I slid down quickly and grasped her ass with both hands to hold her against my face. A long slow lick elicited a breathless "Oh" followed by a quieter "Oh yeah."

Halfway through, she dropped from hands to forearms, her forehead sagging down to rest on her wrists. Without stopping, I peered up along the length of her body, momentarily pausing at the swaying motion above me — later, boy! — to her face. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was hanging wide open to allow the panting breaths that were coming more rapidly with each passing moment.

"Faster," she begged.

I obliged. Suddenly, her knees clamped inwards. The hard, forward thrust of mons stilled my tongue and lips as she rocked herself against me in tiny, rapid motions. The long groan must have filled the room given how loud it sounded through thighs muffling my ears.

She finally sank back and down to rest on my stomach. Looking at the damp spot on my sternum, I asked, "Now who's a mess?"

She started giggling again. Reaching up, she swiped a finger along my chin. "You!"

I grinned in return and used the towel.

"Your girlfriend was wise beyond her years."

I didn't reply. By the end of what we had just done, little Matt was coming back to life and, momentary humor aside, I had other plans. I took hold of her hips and made a lifting tug. After a second of confusion — "Am I too heavy?" — she understood. With a quick look over her shoulder, she complied. She was so wet that it was an effortless plunge to the hilt.

Fresh from a blowjob, I lasted. A second time, later in the wee hours before dawn broke, completed the night.

Taty didn't smirk when I walked in the door the next morning.

"You okay?"

I nodded, understanding that tilt of the head. She wasn't asking if I was okay after some accident or other misfortune that kept me out all night. She was asking if I was okay with what had obviously happened. Not a strange question, I thought, given how peculiar and erratic my emotional state has been since I met her.

I was oddly unembarrassed at what, effectively, was a walk of shame. Something about the events of the last few days had turned her into a friend, even though I'd known her for only a few weeks.

As I headed toward the back, she asked, "Are you going to be at home all day?"

"Yeah. Why?"

She hesitated. "I need to go in. I switched with another girl so that I could take tomorrow for the coffee shop."

I realized what she hesitated to say. "And you want me to keep an eye on the kids?"

"They'd play quietly in the room. They wouldn't bother you. If it's an imposition, I can catch the early bus and take them to the sitter."

"It's fine. And, no bus. I'll drive you."

After dropping her off, I spent a couple of seconds asking myself, "Now what the hell do I do with those two in the back seat?" I hadn't thought things through before I opened my mouth with the offer.

"What do you guys want to do?"

"We could go play video games," was Terrell's suggestion.

Since one of the few things Taty had said to me was, "No video games. He gets too many at the sitter anyway," that was a non-starter.

"I don't have any." That brought a look of astonishment as he tried to fathom how that was possible.

"We could go to the playground and play on the slide." That came from Nia.

Terrell's expression of disgust in the mirror saved me from having to find a nice way to phrase: or I could just hit myself in the head with a hammer. I'm sure it would be different if they were my kids but—

I shied away from going there. I had a role to play here, and navel-gazing while ignoring the ensuing argument consisting of "That's stupid!" — "Is not!" — "Is too!" wouldn't cut it. Besides, I was in a good mood and wanted to keep it that way.

"We could go get hot chocolate and pieces of cake or maybe cookies," I offered. Score! Check the box on mastering basic kid manipulation.

"Two hot chocolates, a macchiato, two pieces of chocolate cake, and one carrot cake," I told Malibu Ken.

Bela used a small break in the customer flow to stop at our table in the back. She surveyed the carnage. "Chocolate with chocolate for brunch?"

"I'm sugaring them up for when their mother comes home."

"You are an evil, evil man." She was smiling as she said it. "Rafi's not here today. Too bad."

I watched her walk back toward the front of the shop. The open back of her apron framed the motion of a rather nice rear end.

Jesus, Matt!

I was momentarily sheepish about Caitlyn, that pizza girl, and now Bela. And, if I'm counting, a mental image I'd had when Angela met her husband's tease about dessert calories with, "Who just said the other evening that my high school cheerleader uniform still looked—" She never finished the sentence, dissolving in laughter at Matt's hand-over-eyes, faux-kill-me-now expression.

Okay, I confess: and add a flashback or two of how Taty had looked in the mirror.

A brief mental squabble ensued.

Are you now gonna letch all the time?

Oh, just effing relax!

But—

It's been a year. You're allowed to notice girls again.

So I did. Relax, that was. And noticed that Bela's figure reminded me of Liv. This time I didn't shy away from that. I tentatively poked at the bad tooth to see how sore it was.

There was sadness and loss, to be sure, but it wasn't crippling. There was some anger, also. I put a name to it. I was angry at life that Liv been taken from me. It was made worse by almost two months of emotional misery, apparently to pander to her vanity.

I had thought about tracking her down. Private investigators. Lawsuits to pry out information. Even a wild plan one drunken, sodden evening of claiming a stolen car to enlist the police. I did none of it. The memory of that begging tone when she said, "PLEASE!" stayed my hand, but it was a close thing many times.

It's hard to excuse that, I thought. But even if some anger was unavoidable, it was certainly time to stop feeling guilty for being angry. Maybe the tooth wasn't as sore as I feared.

The memory swam up of that first glimpse across the party of a booty and long legs in black tights rocking away to some song, and the sudden determination to meet that particular girl that night. When I'd confessed it after a couple of months of dating, Liv had stared at me in mock horror, "You asked me out just because of my ass?"

My deadpan, "No, tits too," earned me a pillow upside the head. That turned into a playful tussle. That turned into a far more adult wrestling match which ended with me declaring — after close examination of the evidence — "but they're such wonderful ass and tits!"