So Many Kinds of Love

So Many Kinds of Love

Author's note: This story is different from my usual fare, touching on darker emotional themes that some readers might find disturbing. As the title suggests, it's about different kinds of love; while it does contain sex scenes, those looking for a quick release will want to keep moving. Finally, this is likely to be the only story I will ever write in this particular genre, so I hope those readers who do stick with it find it both entertaining and touching.

Lyrics to "Venus" used with permission.

Copyright © 2020 to the author.

**

Just as I finished deleting my files so I could turn in my computer, I heard a ding! and a new email alert popped up.

"Of course," I muttered, expecting a final officious order from my boss. Well, someone else would have to do whatever it was.

"Layla 2.0 -- can't wait to see you! the subject line read. I grinned and opened the email. A photo of a dazzling young woman appeared on the screen.

"Damn, she's hot!" Smitty's voice boomed over my shoulder, making me jump. "Look at those legs! And those tits! Mama! Who is she? Your latest?"

"She," I said stiffly, "is my sister."

Smitty whistled. "Damn, Shorty. You've been holding out on me. Four years since Great Lakes, and you never once mentioned your sister looked like fuckin' Miss America. If I'd 'a known, I'd've been nicer to you!"

Snorting, I forwarded the emailed to my private account, deleted Layla's picture -- probably the prettiest she had ever taken -- and logged off my computer for the last time. "Do you really think I'd let a crazy horndog like you anywhere near my sister?"

Striking a pose, my buddy grinned, white teeth flashing even under the low-bid government fluorescent lighting. "Doesn't matter. One look at Cap'n Smitty woulda done it. She'd have slipped your leash to be with this dog!"

I laughed at his arrogant optimism. "Not a chance. Layla's the smartest person I know. You wouldn't fool her for a second."

"I specialize in smart girls."

I turned to look at him in disbelief. "You?"

He grinned again. "Sure. The brainier they are, the more they want a brawny guy that knows how to have fun. I bring balance to their lives."

"How noble of you."

"Yeah, I'm a regular fuckin' Gandhi. But I do provide a service." He attempted to look modest, but failed. "After they scale the heights of Mount Smitty, they go marry a boring nerd somewhere, but secretly think about me for the rest of their days."

"You, my friend, have a fascinating fantasy life."

"It's all reality, bro. Smitty don't need fantasy." He paused as I gathered the last of my government-issued equipment to take back to accountable property. "You sure you wanna leave, doc?"

I heard a faint forlorn note in his voice, but acted like I hadn't. Smitty and I had the classic tough-guy military relationship, and my separation day was not the time to change that.

"Yeah. The navy's no place for a sensitive soul like me."

He brightened. "Damn right. We don't need no guitar-playin', song-writin' liberals around here!"

"Yep. The first thing I'm gonna do is take some leave and start growing my hair. Then I'll find a nice hippie chick who knows how to cook and spend my days fucking, getting fat and making music."

Smitty gave his trademark half-laugh, half-bark and reached out to pat my belly as if I were Buddha.

"Getting fatter, you mean."

I took no offense. "Not everyone's cut like you, man." I glanced up, taking in his massive thighs, rippling abs and chiseled chest for the final time. For the last year, I had worked out daily with Smitty, trying to achieve his near-perfect body. Although I had made great progress in beefing up and slimming down, I couldn't seem to lose that last layer of insulation. We had both concluded I had crappy genes.

He laughed. "Hey, somebody's got to be all cuddly and shit for the ladies who like that kind of thing."

I cocked a brow at him. "I make you shine even brighter, Adonis." I stood up. "Enough of this witty banter. I gotta get checked out by noon or I'll miss my flight."

I tried to give him a military-issue one-armed hug. Unexpectedly, he gave me a full hug back, and my throat closed with emotion. We had one of the weirdest friendships in the navy, but Smitty had been my first buddy back in boot camp and had saved my life at least once. He was a crass, crude and crazy son of a bitch, but he was my crass, crude and crazy son of a bitch. I would miss him terribly.

"You're the best, man," I told him.

The grin reappeared. "Then why won't you give me your sister's number?"

"Did I say best? I meant beast. And I'm not letting you within fifty feet of her."

He clapped me on the back as I gathered up my equipment. "Happy trails, Shorty. You know where to find me."

"Yeah -- explaining your latest fuckup to the chief."

"You know me too well, bro." With that, he slipped through the doorway, leaving me with an armful of electronics and a lump in my throat.

**

I spent my final four weeks of leave in England and Scotland, taking pictures of York Minster from every conceivable angle (magnificent all lit up at night), feeling the pipe organ in the Glasgow Cathedral rattle my ribcage, and hooking up with one Amanda Greene, a traveler from Australia, for one of my typical brief-but-blissful romances. It lasted from the Lake District (utterly brilliant in mid-October) to London, and we parted amicably, agreeing to email but knowing we wouldn't.

I spent the plane ride home finishing my journal and working out some new lyrics, so by the time I got to Layla's house, I hadn't slept in a couple of days. Nevertheless, I ran up the steps to her rowhouse, excited to see my sister in person for the first time in two years. She opened the door at once and threw her arms around me almost before I could cross the threshold.

"Gary!" she shrieked. "You're finally here!"

I dropped my duffel and gently set down my guitar case before wrapping my own arms around her.

"Of course I'm here, girly. Where else would I be?"

She hugged me fiercely. "In the arms of some lunatic, knowing you."

I smiled down at her. "I will have you know that I am done with crazy women."

She shot me a look, then reached for my guitar case to put it inside. "Yeah, right. You may say you want a peaceful life, but you love the drama, Gary. Face it."

Grabbing my duffel, I heaved it inside the house. "Nope. On my next birthday, I will turn twenty-eight. I've decided it's time to grow up and leave the loony bin behind. Henceforth, only quality women and serious relationships for me."

Even as I spoke, I thought briefly of Amanda, a nice enough woman, and realized with an inner jolt that I truly didn't need or want to have any more flings like that. Something inside me wanted something deeper.

I shook my head slightly and refocused on my sister. Taking my hand, Layla pulled me inside, kicked the door closed and hugged me again. "It's so great to see you. I've missed you."

Cuddling her against me, I thought how good she looked. Both of us were born round, but as a teenager, she had put on a lot of weight, the result, I suspected, of our abusive step-father. Donald Dumbass, as we called him, had slapped our mother around, and about the time Layla reached her teens, he started in on her too.

I defended her when I could, but I already had a job as a hospital orderly, and between that and school, I couldn't always be around. To be honest, I didn't want to spend much time in that miserable house, and I'm ashamed to admit I didn't think about what my absence meant to Layla. In a single hellish year, she gained fifty pounds, enough to stop Donald Dumbass from laying a hand on her. Although he made plenty of cruel jokes about her new size, she ignored him and retreated further into her books, creating her own little citadel against the world. Her grades, always high, became perfect.

"You look fantastic," I told her, dropping my arms and stepping back to admire her.

She beamed at me and twirled, showing off. "Thanks! I'd like to say I've been working really hard at it, but the truth is, it's just been coming off without much effort from me."

"That's kind of amazing. You sure you're not doing anything special?"

She considered it. "I'm out of the house more, and I do pay better attention to nutrition. But I'm still eating peanut M&Ms by the bagful."

I laughed as she led me into her kitchen. Layla had a weird habit of sorting her M&Ms by color and quantity, then creating six rows of them, again by color, before nibbling the rows into a perfect pyramid. I found it hilarious to watch, and ate the candy by the handful just to show her it could be done.

"Maybe happiness burns calories. More power to you, sis. Any guys notice Layla 2.0 yet?"

Over the years, we had often discussed the lack of male attention to Layla 1.0, so I figured it was a fair question. For all I knew, she was still a virgin.

She raised one elegant eyebrow. "Yes."

"And are you having fun with any of them?"

"Do you mean, am I having sex with any of them?"

"Not necessarily. Let's face it, girly, you had a rotten adolescence. I'm mostly hoping you've found some nice guys to go dancing with, or to concerts, or book fairs, or whatever turns your crank."

She wrinkled her nose. "Whatever 'turns my crank?' Seriously?"

I sighed. "It's a navy expression. Whatever fills you with joy. Is that better?"

Her face cleared. "Yes. You're out of the military. Time to talk and act like a normal person."

"That'll be the day. I'm not even near the neighborhood of normal."

She snorted, then giggled. "And I love you for it. Anyway, yes, I've been having some fun. After spending all of high school studying and whipping through college in three years, I finally have time to figure out who I am, and what I like, and whatnot."

"So who are you, and what do you like, Layla Franklin?"

She smiled, and I thought again how pretty she looked, how fresh and lovely. She had painted the kitchen of the historic rowhouse a pale shade of pure yellow, which the afternoon sun had deepened. Blues, greens and pinks provided pops of color in a couple of abstract paintings I didn't recognize, but liked. Overall, it was a little like sitting in an Easter basket, but the colors suited her rosy skin and dark blond hair. Her powder blue sweater brought out her ice-blue Nordic eyes, the legacy of our mother, and clung to her torso in a somewhat unsettling way.

As a young man, I approved of her new figure -- trim waist, swelling breasts, strong shoulders -- and as a medic, I applauded her weight loss. But as a brother, I found Layla 2.0 decidedly disconcerting.

She leaned forward. "I'm Layla, and I like learning things."

"Hi, Layla!"

Rolling her eyes, she forged on. "I like my job, and I like having my own money and things that Donald Dumbass can't take away from me. I like this old house, even with the drafty living room windows and spooky creaks and doors that just randomly open without warning. It felt great to buy it, and I love decorating it and using all the colors I wasn't allowed to have when we were kids. I love the smells of bread baking and the air after it rains. And I like cute and cuddly young men with dark hair and dark eyes, probably because my big brother has those traits and I imprinted on him when he rescued me from our evil stepfather."

She said it lightly but I took it seriously. "I wish I had done a better job of that. I've always felt like I ran away and left you when you needed me. I'm sorry, sis."

"Don't be. And don't judge your teenage self by adult standards. You did your best. What matters is that you stood up for me when our mother couldn't or wouldn't. You got yourself a job and got out of the house and showed me it was possible to escape. And when I needed a loan to make the down payment on this place, you gave it to me. I doubt many brothers can say that."

Sitting back in my chair, I eyed her with respect. "You not only look like a new person, you sound like a new person."

"Therapy," she said simply. "Lots and lots of therapy."

"And brains. And inner strength. And character."

Her lips quirked and she looked down at her hands.

"Thanks. I'm still working on Layla 2.0. But life is getting better and better."

"That's awesome. I'm so proud of you." Leaning forward, I covered her hand with mine. "I'll always be here for you, kiddo. You're my family, and I'd do anything for you."

She smiled at me. "Then get your duffel bag and guitar, mister. You can stow those in the guestroom and I'll give you the nickel tour of the house."

We stood and she gave me another quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're here. I really hope you get the job at the hospital. It would be great to have you halfway across town instead of halfway around the world."

I kissed the top of her head. "I hope so too. It's a good fit for a corpsman -- correction, a former corpsman -- and if I get the job, they may pay for me to get more schooling."

"You're like me," my sister said, leading me into the hallway. "You love to learn. To know things."

I smiled at her back, then yawned as we trooped up the stairs. "Yep. And one thing I know right now is that I'd like to stretch out and take a quick nap before the nickel tour. That OK with you?"

"No problem. I can show you around later. We have all weekend to catch up, anyway."

She pointed into a room containing a bed, table, chair, dresser and not much else. "That's yours for as long as you need it. Bathroom's next to it. Come downstairs when you're hungry."

After a quick pee, I stripped down, sank onto the mattress and pulled the coverlet over me. As I snuggled into the pillow, I could hear muffled sounds of domestic activity below me. Somewhere, a floorboard creaked and I smiled. I had never been in this house, but at that moment, I felt at home for the first time since I was a little boy. Shutting my eyes, I fell into a deep and contented sleep.

**

The combination of light and heat on my face woke me up. For a moment, I couldn't imagine where I was; then my synapses started firing and I rolled onto my back, stretching luxuriously. Layla's house; of course. I sat up abruptly, peered around the window shade and swore as the morning sun blinded me. I had slept at least fourteen hours. Not the homecoming I had envisioned.

Urgent bladder pressure sent me to the head, and the assorted soaps and clean, fluffy towels kept me there. Stepping into the shower, I sighed with pleasure as torrents of hot water cascaded down my body. Just what I needed after my travels! I lathered every inch I could reach with the fragrant soap, paused, and slid my hand down to massage my cock.

Mindful of Layla sleeping down the hall, I mostly kept quiet as I relived a particularly successful tryst in the woods with Amanda. She had taught me a couple of intensely erotic new moves I definitely wanted to try with my next girlfriend. It didn't take long for me to climax, and as I came, I couldn't help crying out with pleasure. Rinsing off, I hummed a little tune that had niggled at me for days. The transition to civilian life might not be so bad after all!

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I opened the door to the hall, intending to tiptoe back to my room. Instead, I ran smack into Layla, clad in a fluffy robe and bunny slippers.

As I stammered an apology, she gave me a businesslike once-over. "Looking good, Gar. You been working out?" Not waiting for an answer, she strode into the bathroom and shut the door. I walked back to my room and dressed, wondering just how much she had heard. I had assumed she had her own en suite bathroom, but now that I thought about it, a lot of older homes had just the one bathroom upstairs. Oh well. Should have stayed awake for the tour last night!

The faint scent of coffee tickled my nose and I padded down the stairs to the kitchen. Might as well make myself useful, I thought, pulling eggs, milk, butter, shredded potatoes and sausages from the photo-covered refrigerator. Studying the images, I saw Layla and a lot of attractive young women in most of them -- her buddies, I assumed -- and even one of Smitty and me that I had emailed her from Hawaii. Seeing none from our childhood, I wondered about that even as I swiveled and turned on the heat under a cast-iron skillet. An artisanal loaf of bread stood on a cutting board; I sliced a few pieces for toast. Having missed dinner, I felt ready for a king's breakfast.

Layla walked in just as I poured the eggs into the hot skillet. She sniffed. "Smells great, bro. If the hospital won't hire you, maybe I will."

"Morning, sis. Sorry about hogging the bathroom."

She opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice. "No worries. I wasn't waiting too long."

"Quite a cast of characters on your fridge there. Friends of yours?"

"All my friends!" I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made me feel happy, too. "Some of them are coming over later."

"Cool. They're a beautiful bunch."

"Smart enough not to fall for the first sailor they meet, though."

Flipping the eggs, I snorted. "If they can keep up with you, they're way too smart for me!"

Laughing, Layla smacked me on the shoulder. "It's good to have you home, Gar."

"It's good to be home. Speaking of which, why no pics from when we were little?"

She answered over the clatter of silverware as she set the table.

"They're all gone. Don't you remember?"

I turned off the heat under the eggs. "Remember what?"

"Oh. Well, maybe you wouldn't. You might have gone by then."

Heaping all the food on a platter, I turned to place it on the dining table and I smiled to see such an unmilitary collection of colorful dishes and napkins. The kaleidoscope effect mirrored her own vibrant and feminine personality.

Setting down the platter, I kissed the top of her head as she reached for the serving spoon. "Gone by when?"

She frowned and pulled her hand back. "The night Donald Dumbass decided he was tired of seeing photos of the family before he married Mom. He went through the whole house, taking pictures out of the frames and, and then he lit a fire and chucked them all in. It was awful."

My food forgotten, I stared at her. "That miserable motherfucker! How could he?"

Shaking her head, she met my eye. "You never had any idea what that guy would do next, remember?"

"Did Mom try to stop him?"

Layla nodded. "She begged him not to do it, said she'd put them all away for when you and I left home and he'd never see them again. He slapped her and told her to shut up."

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That sounds exactly like something he'd do. I'm so sorry, kiddo. I wish I'd been there to stop him."

"Nothing could have stopped him. I just wish he had let me keep one picture of our dad. I don't even remember what he looked like now, although I kind of feel he might have looked like you."

"Stands to reason," I replied. "But I guess we'll never know for sure. I don't even know if he has any family living now."

We ate quietly, the pensive mood slowly dissipating as the food disappeared. I remembered our father well enough to have several vivid scenes etched in my brain. Of course, I had been ten when he died, while Layla had just turned six. As we finished our meal, I asked Layla what she could recall about him.

She gazed at the ceiling. "Not a lot, really. I have a hazy memory of sitting in his lap while he read to me, and I hear music sometimes when I think of him. That's where you got your talent, right?"

I nodded. "Dad taught me everything he could after he heard me singing a Beatles song from memory one day." I smiled at the thought, imagining Dad's face when he first heard my dramatic rendition of Can't Buy Me Love in our living room. "He got me a kid-sized guitar when I was eight and he taught me a few chords. We used to play together, him on his Yamaha and me on my Sears special."