Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 05

"Do I feel good to you, Deke?" she asked, her voice pleading and her eyes wild with desperation. "Do I make you feel good?'

I nodded rapidly, speechless. Miranda smiled at my response and leaned her head forward. Touching her forehead to mine, she groaned softly and twitched in my arms. Her whole body was tense and beginning to shake. One foot seemed to stamp - once, then twice, then jerked up in the air just as her walls fluttered around my member again.

"I have to..." she panted, beginning to lean heavily on me, "I can't... I have to lie down. Oh God. O God... Baby, I can't stand up..." As if to prove her point, Miranda's legs shook and buckled at the knees.

With my body weight pushing her against the wall, I reached over and turned off the water. Then, withdrawing my throbbing stiffness from her still quivering depths, I supported her weight as we stumbled out of the shower, then out of the bathroom, and finally over to my bed. I didn't relish the thought of her wet form soaking my sheets, but it seemed unavoidable.

I assisted her in sitting down, and Miranda grabbed hold of my wrist.

"Don't go nowhere," she gasped, her expression dazed. "You're not done yet."

"I'll be OK," I said, trying to convince both of us that I really would be fine if we were done.

"No, no," she objected, looking up at me as I stood next to the bed. She almost sounded drunk. "It's no problem, I got this." And with that, she rolled onto her hands and knees, then slid her legs down off the bed. My bed was raised, enough to allow for storage space underneath, and so Miranda's bottom presented itself to me at the perfect height for renewing our coupling. She reached back and spread her folds open, revealing a very red and swollen area. I had never seen this part of her up close, but before my curiosity could fully engage, Miranda warned me, "Just make sure you get the right hole. I'm not ready to try that other stuff yet." Her fingers, which were still making her entrance visible, guided my tip to the right spot before pulling away to grab a pillow for her head. As she got comfortable, she said, barely audibly, "But another shower like that and you might be able to convince me to try anything!"

I began pushing and found I needed no second effort to sink all the way in. Miranda's slick walls twitched to welcome me. "Ooohh!" she giggled when I bottomed out. I swiveled around a moment, observing the novel sensations of this angle. Most especially, I found that her pubic bone would rub along the bottom of my shaft, providing a very welcome friction. "Whenever you're ready, Puppy," she mumbled, "just grab my hips and fuck me hard."

I was more than ready, and the long minutes in the shower denying the urge to thrust while still buried inside her had only fueled my passion. I began a slow, gentle rhythm at first, adjusting to the angle and feel. Then, upon Miranda's advice, I put my hands on either side of her waist, gripping her firmly. I pulled back and pressed in hard.

"Harder, Deke," she said softly.

I pulled back and pushed in again, firmly.

"Harder, Deke!" she hissed.

I tried again, pushing so fast and hard that the meeting of our bodies made an audible smack.

"Yeah!" she said, "That's more like it. Now even harder! It's for your own good!"

I started testing the limits of how forceful I could be. I found myself holding back out of some fear that I might hurt or upset Miranda, but she continued to urge me on, stopping only when I had clearly cast off all restraint. Each time I bottomed out, I rose up on my toes, lifting her hips up and creating an exquisite pressure at my base. The air of the room chilled our dripping wet bodies, but I still found my brow sweating from exertion.

I had been denied so long that it only took a few minutes of urgent pounding to deliver me from the tension that had been building up in my testes ever since Miranda had entered the shower. Lifting up and pulling her hips against me, I clenched my neck and strained my breath as blast after blast landed deep inside her. My whole body trembled, my calves burning with the effort as I ached to somehow be joined to her even more closely.

When I could support us no longer, I collapsed onto Miranda's back, my hands still clenching her waist. As one last spasm of my rod attempted to empty itself into her, I slid my hands along her bottom, rubbing gently the area I had just pounded so mercilessly. I allowed myself a minute to catch my breath, during which time Miranda shivered with the chill of being naked and wet on a late winter afternoon. She spoke, her muffled voice barely getting past the pillow and folded arms around her head. "Deke, that shower was like one continuous orgasm for me... It started when you were whispering as you kissed me... and it was like it didn't stop. It just swelled and paused and then came back, over and over again."

I had wondered if she had reached climax. It lacked the point of loud finality that she usually announced, but the other signs were there - spread out over the course of our activity. Feeling a slight sense of pride over what seemed to be a job well done, I mustered a last reserve of energy, got up and pulled out. A trail of my spend connected us until it broke and dripped down Miranda's smooth thigh.

She rolled over onto her back, flopping her arms out and revealing the large wet area the size and approximate shape of Miranda's body. I made a mental note to change the sheets before we left for dinner. Seeing me still weak-kneed and breathing hard, Miranda patted the dry space next to her. I lay down on my side, facing her, absently admiring her curves and her smooth skin.

"So did you like that, Babe?" Miranda asked, staring at the ceiling.

"Yes, it was all... very enjoyable," I said, hesitantly reaching out my fingers to trace circles along her skin. She shivered at my touch and her nipples hardened to thick points.

"What about that last part... taking me like that from behind. Was that good?"

"It was sufficient to my need, but compared to other options, I found it lacking," I reflected.

"Really? It didn't feel that good to you? I'm sorry, Puppy. You can take me in whatever position you want as soon as you're ready to go again. I refuse to leave you unsatisfied."

"No, that's not what I meant..."

Miranda giggled and said softly, "I know, Deke, I know."

"I meant that it lacked some of the things I most enjoy about our sexual encounters," I explained.

"Like...?"

"Well, admittedly that position provides a depth and angle of penetration that provides a more desirable stimulation to my penis, but that one advantage is not nearly enough to compensate for what I was missing, namely: the face-to-face contact that allows for kissing, the sound of your breathing against my ear, the feel of your breasts on my chest and the view of them moving in my lower periphery, the feel of your smooth inner thighs wrapped around my legs, the opportunity to fully embrace you while engaged in thrusting, and, most significantly, being able to watch your facial expressions throughout our coupling." My hands moved smoothly across each body part as I mentioned it, and Miranda's body pushed towards my touch.

When I had finished my explanation, Miranda laughed loudly and rolled on top of me. I half-expected her to attempt to revive my still tender penis for another foray. But she simply gave a quick kiss to my nose, rose up over me and said, "Who... knew... that your favorite sexual position would be one that provides the greatest intimacy?" Then putting her face close enough to mine that we could have kissed, she stared into my eyes and said excitedly, "You surprise me, Puppy!" Then she sat up, exhaled loudly and declared, "Best New Years ever," before dismounting me and heading out of the room. I sat up slowly, somewhat dazed.

Miranda returned after only a few seconds, wearing panties and putting on a bra. She pulled a shirt over her head and retrieved an outfit for me from atop my dresser. "Wear this," she instructed. As I stood up and went to get a towel, Miranda followed me around the room.

"You know," she said, putting her legs through a long skirt, "if those are the things that you like, then you are going to love the cowgirl position. Remind me to make that the position we use next time."

I couldn't tell if she was joking, and my expression apparently conveyed my confusion. Miranda rolled her eyes, then, while tilting her head to put on earrings, she explained, "Just like our first time, with you on top, except rotated 180 degrees."

I tried to picture that, but it didn't...

Miranda sighed loudly then said, "Rotated along the x-axis, you goofball. Me on top. You on bottom. Boobies in your face."

I raised my eyebrows in understanding, then again in anticipation. There was much more variety to sex than I had previously thought.

*******

Miranda had chosen a small Indian restaurant for our meal. And she had chosen well: the atmosphere was quiet and only four or five other parties were scattered throughout the establishment. Not familiar with the cuisine, I deferred to Miranda, who was equally ignorant. Our server made recommendations, which we ordered. As soon as the server was gone, Miranda pulled a prescription bottle from her purse and took out some pills. She swallowed them with a glass of water and said, "It's supposed to be on an empty stomach. Hopefully the food won't get here too quickly."

I cocked my head, trying to remember if I knew about her medication.

She looked away and shook her head. "Third time's a charm," she muttered to herself. Then she looked at me and said, "Tuberculosis? Positive TB test? Remember? I've got to take these for a few months. Since I got it at the shelter, Dottie and Thomas insisted on covering the medicine, so at least I'm only being inconvenienced and not also having to pay for it."

I recalled some mention of that in weeks past, though this was the first time, I was certain, that I had seen her taking the pills. Miranda watched my face expectantly. She didn't say a word, just smiled gently... patiently... waiting for... for me to be considerate. She had given me a topic, something I could possibly be interested in. She wanted me to talk to her.

"Which drug?" I asked. Miranda smiled. Success.

"Rifampin," she answered. I was not very familiar with it, but rather than inquire about the chemical make-up, I asked "Are there any side effects?"

And so on.

We had a conversation that lasted nearly the whole meal. A conversation with no goal or point except to converse and share time together. She asked about my experiences as a young teenager in college. I asked about Dom. She asked about my sisters. I asked about Nevada. I learned a lot about her, and she only had to prompt me a few times to reciprocate question asking. It didn't feel natural, by any stretch. The whole exercise was exhausting and took tremendous concentration. When I mentioned that on our way out the door, Miranda replied, "That's pretty much what your classes are like for most people." She seemed serious, which gave me pause to consider how what came naturally to me took so much hard work for others, and how I needed to keep that in mind as I prepared my lectures. Perhaps printing a reminder and putting it at the top of my monitor...

"You realize this is the first time we've been in a car together?" Miranda observed as I drove us home.

"Really?" I tried to recall any other time.

"Yeah. After over eight months of marriage, we're just now sharing a car."

"Interesting," I commented.

"And while we're talking about cars, yours needs help," she informed me. "That sound coming from the engine is definitely not right. Dom's dad has a garage. I'll get you the address. You really need to get this checked out."

"Thank you, Miranda. I'm pretty ignorant concerning cars. Maybe my resolution this year should be to change that."

"Nah," she objected. "One thing at a time. Stick with the sex resolution this year while you still have me around. You can learn cars next year."

While you still have me around. I didn't like the implication of that. It wouldn't be correct to say I loved Miranda. But I was quite accustomed to her and even appreciated her presence in my life, and not just for sexual reasons. Though the sexual component was quite compelling, too. But I especially enjoyed how Miranda met me on my own terms rather than expecting me to act like everyone else.

"Miranda," I asked as we neared home, "Are you trying to 'fix' me?"

She gazed out the window at the houses still covered in Christmas lights. Then sighing, she put her hand on my knee, looked over at me and said, "Deke, you don't need fixing. I'm just trying to help you to better understand a very confusing world. Think of me as your foreign-language teacher. I'm helping you learn the basics of a different way to communicate."

I liked her analogy. "It is a confusing place," I agreed.

*******

That night, I didn't realize I had failed to change my wet sheets until just before I went to bed, and I knew I had no clean sheets to pull out. The wetness had spread, compounded by the damp towels we had tossed onto the bed while getting ready for our evening out.

Miranda was already asleep in her room. I had never been able to sleep on my couch, so I sneaked into Miranda's room, expecting her to be asleep on her single bed. My plan was to borrow the sheets from the sofa sleeper.

To my surprise, the sofa sleeper was unfolded and Miranda was lying on one side, her breath soft and rhythmic. I paused in the darkness, forced to reconsider my plans. There really seemed to be only one option. The bed creaked when I lay down on the opposite side. Miranda's breathing caught for a second, and she rolled towards me. Resting an arm and a leg over my body, she mumbled, "Forgot to change your sheets?"

"Yes," I replied softly. "I intended to use these."

"Sorry. They're in use," she whispered, then yawned.

"I'll wait," I stated, folding my hands on top of my midsection.

I felt her body shake lightly as she laughed without sound. "Smartass," she complained, squirming a bit until she was comfortable.

"You knew I would come?" I asked, very curious if she had foreseen this or if it was coincidence.

"Thought of your wet sheets when I crawled into my little bed," she explained sleepily. "Knew these were the only kinda clean ones left. Easier to sleep here than change sheets."

"And you're sleeping here because..."

"Want me to move?" she asked, lifting her head a bit in order to see my face.

"No," I answered quickly, before I could even think about an answer.

"Good," she said, dropping her head back down. "I'm here because, why not? I don't like an empty bed. And I don't think you really do anymore either. One of the benefits of a marriage, real or fake. OK?" She had mumbled the whole thing with her eyes still closed, but her voice seemed a little hurt.

"I just thought maybe you had spilled something on your bed," I explained, yawning. "But all that sounds good, too."

"Oh. Well, g'night Deke."

"Good night... Dear."

*******

It was a few days later - Friday morning - when I went to my scheduled meeting with Dr. Cavell. Miranda was very nervous to hear that I had been called to a meeting with my department head. She feared the worst - that somehow our legal, consummated, yet pretend marriage was being called into question. I was unperturbed, knowing the facts were all on our side: regardless of what anyone might suspect, there was nothing about our marriage that wasn't legitimate. Our case was solid, so I didn't expect any questions about that. It was in all likelihood just some sort of beginning-of-the-semester policy or curriculum discussion, I thought.

My meeting was held in a conference room in one of the administrative buildings on campus. Dr. Cavell was there, as was my friend and colleague Ray DiNardo, the school's academic dean, and several people I did not recognize. They were seated closely, discussing something when I arrived. That discussion came to an abrupt end the moment I walked in the door. My first warning that something was wrong was when I saw that my seat was alone, on the other side of the table opposite the others.

Dean Jessica Pelton introduced the other two attendees. One was a middle-aged black gentleman with a round, bald head and small rectangular glasses. He was a mid-level administrator in some department other than mine. The other was introduced as Rachel Quinn, a woman about my own age in a business suit that was all the more drab in contrast to her bright orange curls. She represented the university's in-house legal department, and she gave me withering looks whenever I faced her direction.

Dean Pelton sat at the head of the large table and indicated that I should sit in the lone seat to her left. The others were lined up across the table from me. She mentioned that our conversation was confidential but was nonetheless being recorded. I asked the reason for our "meeting," and she looked at each of her colleagues. When they had each nodded, she proceeded.

"Dr. Kirsch, can you tell us what happened in your office at approximately 4:50 p.m. on Tuesday, December 18^th of this... I'm sorry... of last year?"

It took me a moment to recollect, but then I was instantly aware of the date in question.

"I had my posted office hours until 5 p.m.," I answered. "At 4:50, I was shutting down my computer and packing my bag, intending to leave a few minutes early. I now wish that I had indeed managed to slip away."

"Dr. Kirsch, do not take this lightly," Dean Pelton warned. "If you don't take this seriously-"

"Ease up, Jessica!" Ray DiNardo interrupted. "Deacon doesn't joke. He's perfectly literal." Then looking at me he said, "Deacon, tell us what happened after that. Between 4:50 and 5 o'clock."

"At 4:55 a student - Miss Katerina Knowles - entered my office to request that I reconsider her final grade in my class."

"And?.." prompted Dr. Cavell.

"And I refused. Her final grade had been objectively and fairly calculated. She failed by a wide margin."

"Go on," instructed Dean Pelton.

"I would be happy to submit her work to a third party to be graded. But her final exam is more than 50% blank, not to mention her lack of attendance and participation throughout-"

"Deacon!" interrupted Dr. DiNardo. He looked worried. "We need you to tell us everything that happened when she was in your office." I began to suspect that the problem was not whether or not I had graded fairly.

Dean Pelton clarified, "Dr. Kirsch, Miss Knowles has made some very serious allegations concerning your treatment of her that afternoon. This is your chance to tell us what you remember while we prepare to evaluate the charges against you."

I'm sure I paled. Ray looked at me sympathetically. If it was my word against hers, what chance did I have of convincing anyone?

Dr. Cavell spoke up, her voice soft and soothing. "It's OK, Deacon. Just tell us the truth."

And so I recounted the events of that meeting, blushing as I summarized Katerina's words and recalling almost exactly what my own words had been. Three hands took furious notes, Miss Quinn typed away at a laptop computer, and Dean Pelton watched my every expression without ever looking away.

When I finished recounting our dialogue, Dr. Callow, the black gentleman, wiped his bald head with a handkerchief and with a drawling southern accent asked, "At any point during this conversation did you and Miss Knowles come into physical contact with each other? Describe where you were sitting in relation to each other."