Mitch: Reconciliation

Without a word, I pushed her back down so that she was laying on her back. I put my hand over her eyes, closing them (realizing that this was eerily like a old mortician), and pulled the sheet all the way back so that she was completely uncovered again, naked except for a black thong. I began touching her, exactly as I had before, except this time, there was something else mixed in with the love.

"I'm going to appreciate you some more."

"Really ...", she said in mock surprise, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, so just sit back and shut up and let me do it. We both know you deserve it."

"I do, don't I?"

I could see then, that the divorce had taken more out of her confidence than she was willing to admit. The way she said it, it sounded like she was surprised or something.

"Yes, you do. When was the last time you actually treated yourself well and gave yourself what you wanted?"

She stayed silent as I slid my hands up her arm, gently brushing the inside of her elbow. I moved past her shoulders and onto the other arm and she still hadn't responded, so I prodded her again.

"Mitch?"

"No on has called me beautiful for a long time." It was like a whisper and I could tell that it hurt her to say it.

"I'm sorry, Mitch, I really am. You've dated some very stupid men, then."

She didn't say anything, so I worked my way down her other arm and onto her hand, touching each finger in turn, then twining my fingers through hers and pulling on them, stretching her hand. For a second, she clutched back and then it was gone.

It was when I had hit her stomach again, tracing the line of her c-section scar with my fingers, that she finally spoke:

"Ten years, 3 months and 7 days."

"What?"

"You asked me how long. That's the answer."

She had her eyes closed, so she couldn't see, but that nearly made me cry ... for both of us.

Right at that moment, tears welling in my eyes, I brushed my palm over her nipple. It was an accident, honestly, but she sucked in her breath suddenly, shocked, as if I had burned her with my touch. I stopped, unsure whether to continue; the old battles had been so intense that I couldn't risk another one, not now. She held it for a few seconds and then, just giving in, honestly giving in, she exhaled and just let all that guilt and anger go. She took my hand and cupped it over her breast, telling me with a single gesture that it was alright.

I avoided going further at the time, even though my heart (and other parts) were thrilling, and ran my hands over every inch of her again, rolling her over to get at places I had missed the first time. Everywhere: in her hair, under her arms, on the bottom of her feet ... I literally touched every inch of her as if life itself depended upon me finding every last bit of skin. I wanted her to feel everything I felt and wanted and needed coming out through my hands into her skin, that nothing she had done or was could ever be anything but perfect to me - complete. As I started to work my way back up again from her feet, she was on her stomach, with her head cradled in her arms.

"My God, this is amazing." She sounded like she was in a trance, half asleep.

"Shhhh, I'm not done."

"When I'm done, you are so getting it back."

"Sssssshhhh, I'm not done."

And with that, I ran a finger slowly along the string of her thong, running it up the crack of her ass. She tensed as I went and when I paused at her anus, just brushing it with my fingertip, she gasped openly.

"Oh."

"Yeah ... oh."

I did it again, this time just dipping the tip of my finger in, barely more than before and she rocked back against me slightly, her eyes firmly closed. I did it a few more times, each time getting a bit deeper, until I hit the point where I knew it would hurt her to continue. She was already breathing heavy and as I got further and further in, she rocked more and more into me. Without a word, I pulled her thong off so that she was completely naked, and then put a pillow underneath her hips, forcing her ass into the air. The whole time, she was like a rag doll, limp and compliant, as if she had just given in to the whole thing.

When I had her at the right angle, I spread her legs, revealing everything to me.

They say that the boy in you never dies, and I can honestly say that's true because when I saw her there, puffy and glistening, it was like I was seeing everything for the first time again, fresh and new. I traced around her outer lips, marveling at everything I saw, taking my time and enjoying the process of revealing. I would dip the tip of my finger into the trace of moisture at her slit and drag some up to her anus while slowly stroking her clitoris with my other hand, taking forever to get things the way I wanted them. When I was there and she was open like a flower and shining, grinding her hips into the bed reflexively, I just gave in to an impulse, dipped my head, and tongued her anus, something I'd never really done with anyone.

And she moaned openly, so I kept at it, dabbing with my tongue while my fingers traced her slit, opening her ever so slightly and rolling against her clitoris. She slid her legs out and around and then underneath her, raising herself off the ground onto her hands and knees. I grabbed at the pillow with my free hand and threw it off the bed, getting it out of the way. When I was more or less back in place, she pushed back at me, forcing my head into the crack of her ass. I took that as a sign and forced my tongue into her, no longer licking but probing. There was a slight bitter taste, but I didn't care, and kept at it like I had a fever, like I couldn't get far enough inside her. I slipped my thumb inside her vagina, rocking the meaty part at the base of my thumb across her clitoris, back and forth, sliding my thumb into her in time with my tongue. She started grunting like an animal.

She came within a minute, her spasms nipping my tongue and arching her hips down at an odd angle. I struggled to keep my thumb in as my wrist bent painfully, and then pulled out because I no longer had any other option. She was shaking that badly. She collapsed forward when the last of the waves had gone, utterly spent and let loose this long sigh that said so much. I laid down beside her and stared, in wonder, at her.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye with this odd look, like she was seeing me for the first time, perhaps ever. Her finger was playing with her lip and she just sat there, staring, and the longer she did it, the more uncomfortable it made me. I felt like she could see right through me, knew that I was a phony. I closed my eyes to avoid that withering gaze.

"Was I too loud?" I heard her shift on the bed, felt the heat again.

"Hmmmm?" I opened my eyes and she was closer, inches away, our eyes locked.

"Was I too loud? Remember Calvin bringing us into his room to listen to Mom and Dad fight? His room is right underneath us."

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah."

"Right at this exact moment, do you care?"

"No."

"Yeah, neither do I."

She snaked her hand up between us and hooked my pinky with her own. "Jack, this is something."

"I know it is."

"Are we going to be able to stop this time?"

"I don't know. Mentally, I was completely prepared to let you go."

"You are so full of shit."

"Yeah, I guess I am, but so are you. Listen ... I'm done fighting. We do this all the way or nothing. That's the way it has to be and we both know it."

We were lying on our sides, so I hooked her leg up around my hip and then rolled onto my back, slipping into her with a single movement. She was very wet, but also very tight; clearly she hadn't had sex in quite some time.

"Oh, fuck. It's been a while. That was just a tad sudden."

"I'm having trouble finding fault with it, personally."

She laughed and gave me a squeeze, sliding up ever so slightly. It was amazing. After watching her come, I was more than halfway there myself. If she kept this up, I wouldn't last long. She leaned forward onto her forearms, her face just above mine. Ever so slowly, she moved on me, using only her hips for the motion, grinding down and then rocking back up, milking me with her vagina. With her hands, she played with my hair, my ears, my face. She kissed me, gently, around the corners of my mouth, mine open and grasping, hers tiny and precise. By the time she moved up to my eyes, I was on the verge of exploding and as the first of the massive waves of passion hit me, she said what I had wanted to hear my entire life.

"Yes."

It was a whisper, but so profound that it almost broke me like glass. As I crashed through that wall, pumping into her and seeing stars, she said it again and again. Each one a whisper into my mouth, each one as heavy as gold.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

And I gave in to it all, swimming off into some place I'd never been, dark and cold. I could feel myself slipping away, into the void, and all I could hear was the rush of something large, something larger than I had ever known coming toward me on a wave, a great hush building across the cosmos, ready to sweep me away like a speck and tumble me across the universe like straw before a storm.

"Breathe."

Blink. Her face on mine, our tears intermixed.

"Breathe, older brother."

My touchstone, bringing me back to Earth.

----------

It was clear from the look on Calvin's face when we finally came out for breakfast, that he knew something was up. Maybe he heard, maybe he caught the smell of sex roiling out of that sweatbox of a room into the hallway, maybe he just caught the difference in us, that we were more peaceful and less, well, explosive. Whatever it was, he was more guarded than I had ever seen him, he of the raging parties and enormous social group, surrounded by idolaters and never one to mince words. To see him duck his head when we came in and avoid our eyes was telling, so telling it hurt. To his credit, he didn't say anything, but he was never really the same after that and he is the biggest single reason we've stopped going to family dinners. He's always had an intensity, but it was clearly friendly and just driven, nothing personal. Now, there was something harder behind it all, accusing.

And we did those dinners, for a while, to maintain the pretence that we were a normal family and not kids that had returned from four corners of the world. We had to because the two boys needed us about as much as we needed them right afterward. Doug was a mess for months after the funeral and to his credit, my Dad really stepped up his game, showing up for the first time for his children in spades. The girlfriend was gone - she'd left him a few months ago - and he was just himself, smaller and older and weaker, but with a strength he'd never had before. Wordlessly, he just took charge, right when we needed it most and because there really wasn't much left in any of us, we all just dropped the anger for a bit and let him do his thing.

I caught Dad once, just looking through the old family photographs as we were cleaning out the house and selling all the goods, and the look of pain on his face really meant something to me and so I put my hand on his back. We forget sometimes that love maintains a hold on us and despite their fighting, despite the anger and the blows (at the end, which was the start of our hate for him), there was something sweet at the beginning of things and that taste had obviously lingered.

I didn't know it then, but that gesture was the start of our rapprochement. Underneath all that anger was a pretty decent man, just brought to a boil after 30 years trapped in a cage. I'll never forgive him for hitting Mom, and I told him that to his face in one of our honest moments, but I could at least understand. One thing Sandy taught me was that there is love and hate in every relationship and the art is tipping it, daily, lest the rush get too much to offset. What I learned in a year, some people take 30 years to learn, apparently, and the prospect of living that anger, day after day, knowing there is no end and no life afterwards to make up for it all would break me. It's a wonder the two of them didn't go insane.

In the end, it took us nearly six months after the funeral to clean everything up to the point where Doug could handle it himself. Dad stuck around for another month, just to be sure Doug was situated, and we left the family dog (who has been left out of all of this - shame!) with him because it was something he and Mom shared. It hurt me to leave him, to be honest, because Mom had always been there, even at the end, to remind him of how special he was. Without that ... Doug would have to rely on himself, largely. I still call him all the time, just checking, and I think he knows why I do it, but I can't be sure. We all pooled our life insurance money to buy him a condo, knowing full well we'd never see a penny back. Odd as we are, we're still a family, and Doug will never get the breaks that someone like me gets, and we all knew it.

There came a day, though, when the estate bank account was closed and the last letter had been mailed. The house had just sold and we all took a last turn through with a case of expensive beer Calvin had bought just for this day. As we got drunk and cried, we all re-measured ourselves against the wooden pole in the basement, marking our little 1997 above those tiny, faded lines from 1976 my Dad had cut in with his old pocket knife. Hopefully the new owners didn't cover it up. Houses have histories, too, and as we move through them, we can add to the stories inside. One by one we fell silent and slipped away to our own little place, the only sound the clink of glass or the swish of beer.

And then we filed out, silent as the dead.

In Mitch's car (the rental was long since turned back in), with Mule behind me in the back seat and Mitch beside me, I could hardly speak I was so choked up and I had to turn into the parking lot of some nameless convenience store to get my composure. She cupped the back of my head with her hand, touching her forehead to my cheek, and we sat like that for an hour. When we finally got moving again, I caught her quietly humming some tune I couldn't place and I asked her what it was. Her only answer was to smile and put her hand on mine on the shifter. It was wonderful and we drove across the state like that.

As we pulled into the small city she now called home, she finally spoke.

"You know what? I just figured out that no one here knows who you are. I only moved from down state just before I got the call."

"Oh, really."

"Yes, really."

"And this means ..." I wanted to hear her say it, make it real.

"Well, it means I have a new boyfriend named Jack, as of this moment." I grinned to hear it, in every pore. Without a word, she leaned over and gave my cock a squeeze through my jeans, kissing me beside my eye.

"We are going to have so much fun.", she said as she slumped back down in the seat. We both laughed.

And then she started to hum again, that same maddening tune, and for some reason I knew it, too, and joined in, our voices together and apart in turn, twisting around each other the way we do.