So Many Kinds of Love

She stood up. "Sorry to break up the party early, but I need to get home and hit the books for an hour before bed."

We all got to our feet, and I didn't have to fake a yawn. "I'll walk you outside."

On the front step, the front door firmly closed so no one in the house could hear us, we embraced. "Was it my imagination, or does he look a lot like me?"

"It's not your imagination at all! You could be primos, even brothers." She shuddered and I tightened my arms around her.

"You didn't like him either, did you?"

She shook her head. "He seems fake to me. And I didn't like the way he was looking at her."

"There's nothing we can say or do to stop this train wreck, is there?"

Sighing, Gabriela laid her head against my shoulder. "Poor Layla. She'll have to learn the hard way -- just like the rest of us."

Lifting her chin with my fingers, I gazed into her eyes. "I hope you don't have to learn anything about me the hard way."

She smiled at my words. "That's beautiful, but unlikely. We all let each other down. I'll disappoint you. You'll disappoint me. But I hope we will work through those times together."

"And be stronger for it?"

Her hands slid up my chest and curved around the back of my neck. "You're learning, love."

Our lips met and I dissolved into a puddle of desire and hope. We stood there a long while, just holding one another and being together, before she finally stepped back.

"Another good evening," she said with satisfaction. "I could get used to this."

I nodded. "Me too."

Inside, there was no sign of Michael and Layla. My stomach churned a little at that, but I told myself it was none of my business and headed upstairs to bed. Not much later, I heard voices murmuring downstairs, then the sound of the front door closing. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, closed my eyes, and fell asleep almost immediately.

**

Despite my inner turmoil, I slept like the dead for a few hours, then woke up around three, completely alert, as if an alarm had sounded. Looking around, I saw nothing but the shadowy forms of the furniture around me, and heard nothing but the occasional distant creak of the old house. Shivering in the draft from the window, I pulled up the second blanket at the foot of the bed, wondering what had woken me so abruptly. Nothing seemed amiss, so I shrugged, shut my eyes and tried to relax my mind so I could return to sleep.

Naturally, my mind scoffed at the very idea of sleeping. As I lay in the soft darkness, I had the oddest sense of Gabriela in the room with me. It felt so powerful that I again opened my eyes, half expecting to see her. Nothing had changed -- I probably would have freaked out if it had -- but the idea of her with me claimed my imagination. I snuggled into the warm sheets and mattress, already feeling the stirrings of arousal.

Surrendering to sensual fantasies was yet another thing I couldn't do in the barracks. Granted, everyone jerked off, but we tended to be quiet and discreet about it. But here, alone in this cool, fresh room, I could give in completely to the enticing visions my brain conjured up without fear of being heard or seen -- or teased over breakfast the next day.

For its part, my brain delivered. I could see Gabriela standing over me, wearing a silky orange nightie that clung to her breasts, barely reaching the tops of her smooth thighs. Lifting the sheet and blankets, she slid in next to me, and then we were in each other's arms, kissing until we couldn't breathe, her full lips exploring my face, my ears, my neck with kisses and bites and licks. The air seemed full of the spicy floral scent she favored, and I giggled and gasped as my dream lover made her way down my body, running her tongue over my nipples as she reached down to caress my cock, now rock hard and ready for anything she cared to do with it.

Moaning quietly, I gave full rein to my fantasy, feeling her sexy curves under my hands, both firm and yielding as I explored her in my turn. I could feel her heat as she straddled me, imagine the molten depths as she slid down on me. The blankets now seemed too hot and I pushed them down with my free hand, saying her name and telling her everything in my heart as I writhed and thrusted and stroked my way toward the edge.

"Oh, yes, baby. Just like that. Oh, that feels so good. Do you like it too? I want you to love it the way I do."

In my mind, Gabriela urged me on, begging me to fill her, wanting me to love her. I gave voice to those fantasies too, stroking faster, and quickly found myself at the point of no return.

Moaning louder now, I felt that familiar boiling sensation and grabbed a tissue just in time. "I love you," I breathed. "I love you I love you I love you."

A minute or so later, now spent, I gave a final moan and lay back, heart pounding, feeling marvelous. I heard a faint creak and looked towards the door. At some point during my adventure, it had opened. I half-imagined I saw movement in the hall, but when I looked again, the hallway was empty. No doubt, all those endorphins were giving me visions!

Putting that matter aside, I returned to basking in the glow I always get after a good orgasm, wondering if sex with Gabriela would match the many fantasies I'd had of being with her. Mmm. Possibly it would surpass my imagination. Smiling at that thought, I soon fell asleep for the rest of the night.

**

"You know, now that you're home, I really want to have a proper Christmas," Layla said over breakfast the next morning. "Maybe the best Christmas of our lives! A real tree, decorations all through the house, lots of presents -- the whole enchilada." She nodded at the tiny fake tree in her kitchen window. "My little Charlie Brown Christmas tree just isn't going to be enough now."

Gulping my orange juice, I nodded. "Absolutely. I love the idea! Let's go shopping today and get a tree and all the trimmings."

A smile lit up her face and she looked about sixteen instead of twenty-four. "Yes! And the fact that Donald Dumbass would hate it just makes it better."

I raised my juice glass. "To all the little boys and girls who escaped the Donald Dumbasses of the world. May we all unite and thrive and have the best holidays of our lives!"

She clinked my glass with hers. "Hear, hear!"

We swallowed our juice and grinned at each other. "That sounded like a new song being born," she observed. "Meter, rhyme and everything."

I pondered for a moment. "Maybe. I'll let it marinate. For now, let's make our shopping list."

By unspoken agreement, her house had become our meeting place. Although she had helped me move in and arrange my few possessions, my apartment just didn't have the warmth her place did. Leaving our childhood home so early and sharing a house with three other meatheads, then living in basic quarters through my military career, I never learned how to make a house a home. To be honest, I slept better at Layla's than I did in my own place -- something about having another heartbeat in the house, I guess.

She dug out a pad of paper and pen, then looked at me, those pale Nordic eyes alert and expectant.

I grinned. "Paper? How twentieth century of you!"

"Hmph. I happen to like having something tangible to hold on to. Plus, you use paper for lyrics, so don't be mocking me. Plus, if I drop it, the screen won't crack and cost me a hundred bucks to repair."

"Ah. Is that the bitter voice of experience talking?"

She grimaced. "Yep. Now let's get on with it. This house won't decorate itself and I want it looking like Santa and all his elves had an orgy in here by nightfall."

I laughed out loud at that. "Tall order, sis. We'd better get started."

"And go by your place and fetch your guitar," she added. "Once we're done, we may want to sing a few carols by the tree."

"For the Layla and Gary Holiday Hour?"

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Don't be cynical."

We wound up splitting the shopping list about ninety-ten. I headed out to buy a real tree, plus a stand and lights for it, while Layla took the rest of the list. I felt good about my part of bargain until I had to secure the tree to my newly purchased Camry for the drive home. For an extra twenty bucks, the guy at the tree lot wrapped the tree in a tarp and helped me tie it to the car's roof, promising it wouldn't scratch the paint. Still brooding over the total expense, I drove slowly and carefully back to her place and ignored the angry drivers who passed me, glaring and making hand signals.

Layla had not yet returned, so I manhandled the tree into her living room and set it up, thankful for my regular workouts -- the tree was both heavy and awkward. The comfortable silver armchair, my favorite place to sit and read, had to go into one corner for the duration, but I figured it was a small price to pay. Panting on the couch afterward, I reckoned nearly twenty years had passed since I last sat in a living room with a live tree. After Dad had died, mom never got another, and Donald Dumbass actively disapproved of such frivolities.

Why had she married him? Even loneliness had to be preferable to life with such a humorless prick. Ah, well. No need to spend any more time thinking about him.

Breathing in the pine fragrance, I gazed at the twinkling lights, absently scratching the itchy spots where the sap had seeped on to my skin. I knew the tree would look even prettier once my sister brought home some ornaments, but it looked awfully good to me even now.

The back door rattled and I rose to open it and help Layla bring in what seemed like an entire department store's holiday stock.

By dinnertime (a large sausage and mushroom pizza), the house did look like the site of glitter-themed holiday orgy. Even my sweatshirt and jeans sparkled with it, and yawning, I wondered how many weeks it would take to get it all out of my car's upholstery and carpet after I drove home.

"You should probably wash your hands and face before we eat," Layla advised, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You look kind of like Santa's pet unicorn farted on you."

Rolling my eyes, I headed for the powder room tucked behind the kitchen. "Classy, sis. You have such an elegant way with words. And I love how protective you are of my male dignity."

Behind me, Layla's laugh rang out. "Dignity? You? That'll be the day."

Even a good wash with lots of soap failed to remove all the glitter, but I made myself believe I wasn't ingesting any of it. As we listened to Nat King Cole croon carols, Layla ate hungrily and I wondered if she had stopped for lunch. Judging from the sheer quantity of ornaments and other decorations, probably not.

After destroying the pizza, we sat back on the couch, surveying our handiwork. Boxes lay strewn everywhere, but above them, the effect, entirely orchestrated by Layla, looked like magic. She rose, turned off the overhead light, and returned to her seat by my side. We both simply sat there for a long while, dazzled by the glowing holiday lights.

"You know," Layla finally said, "we did good work here."

I smiled in the semi darkness. "We make a good team." I looked around the room. "Dad would have loved this."

We lapsed into silence, each thinking of the person who couldn't be with us. A sudden shiver ran down my back and it seemed to me that I could feel our father's presence all around us. Imagining his smile, I reached for my guitar and ran an experimental hand over the strings, listening for any off-tones.

After making a couple of adjustments, I modulated into a basic G chord and waltz time. "Silent night..."

Layla's pure soprano took up the melody and I did a basic harmony at the top of my tenor range. How many years since we had sung together? I had no idea. At that moment, singing one of the loveliest carols ever written, it hardly seemed to matter. We were together now, and making music as if we had never left each other.

From "Silent Night," it was a short step to "O, Holy Night." Again, I sang harmony, picking out an accompaniment and admiring Layla's sweet voice as it dipped and soared. How had I forgotten how much joy singing with someone I loved could bring?

"Do you mind if I say something kind of weird?" Layla asked in the silence that followed.

"How would that be a change from your usual conversation?"

"Jerk. I'd throw a box at you if I had enough energy." She paused. "I -- I kind of wish Mom could be with us."

Three months ago, that remark would have put me into a fury. Now, though, I turned it over in my mind before saying anything.

"Why?" I finally asked.

"She's the only other family we have. I just wish things were different between us."

"Me too," I admitted. "But she's toxic."

"Yeah." She paused again. "She emailed me last week."

Thinking of Dr. Harrison, I inhaled deeply and held it for a three-count before letting it out. "What did she want? Money?"

Layla shook her head. "No, she just wondered how I was doing and if I had heard from you."

"Did you answer?"

"I told her you had left the navy and were living near me. I said we were happy, and told her I hoped she was too. I haven't heard back."

I relaxed. "Does she contact you much?

"Couple of times a year, just to check up on me. She used to ask me for money, but she hasn't done that in a year or so. Probably gave up, because I never gave her any."

"Is she still with Donald Dumbass?"

Layla frowned. "I think so, but I don't actually know. She hasn't mentioned him in the last couple of emails either."

"Maybe he died," I suggested cheerfully.

"Always look on the bright side of life," she sang.

We giggled together and returned to our quiet contemplation of the tree, enjoying the music and lights and one another's presence. Closing my eyes, I leaned back and put my arm around Layla's shoulders. Snuggling in, she laid her head on my shoulder. Deeply content, we both dozed off.

**

The next couple of weeks passed in a hectic flash. I squeezed in two more emotional sessions with Dr. Harrison and realized he had been right: it did get better. At work, Janie continued to teach me how to negotiate the political world of the hospital and do my job effectively while I taught her and a few other women the basics of street fighting. Layla kept seeing Michael, but wisely elected not to share many details with me -- or invite him to one of our dinners again.

Most importantly to me, Gabriela finished up her course work and internship. Two nights before Christmas, we finally had our long-awaited date-date at the nicest Italian place in town.

She looked fantastic in a crimson dress with a flared skirt perfect for dancing and twirling. A rhinestone barrette held back her dark, wavy hair, and a pair of chic black slingbacks showed off her legs and put her nearly at my height. Perfect for kissing, I told myself with satisfaction.

"You look great," she told me, her eyes flicking over my dark gray suit and pale green tie, purchased for the occasion but necessary for work, too.

"Not that anyone's looking at me," I laughed, guiding her through the small, but elegant, restaurant. "They're all wondering who the gorgeous woman with me is."

She did capture the eye, I thought, again with satisfaction. A number of men watched her progress, as did a few women. I winked at one of them and she smiled before looking back at her companion.

"Well, I have to look at you," she argued. "Thank goodness you're the finest thing in this place!"

At our table, I kissed her cheek on a sudden impulse before sitting down. "I'm so glad we're finally doing this."

Her eyes sparkled in the soft light. "Me too. Thanks for understanding about my schedule."

I picked up the menu, then set it back down so I could make eye contact. "It won't be like this forever, and I want to support you."

She looked pleased. "Not every man would feel that way. I appreciate that you do."

We both took a minute or two to review the menu and placed our order. As our waiter departed, she leaned forward and took my hand.

"So how are you, really?"

I blinked. "I'm good. Why do you ask?"

"I was watching you, kind of comparing you tonight to you at the coffee house the first time we went out."

I cocked my head, curious. "Oh, really? And what does my gorgeous, brilliant and analytical sweetie see?"

She leaned back, grinning. "You've lost the anxiety and seem ... easier in yourself. Relaxed. Not quite swaggering, but certainly confident."

I shrugged. "Stands to reason. I know you much better now."

The waiter placed a basket of hot bread on the table, plus dishes of softened butter and deep goldish-green olive oil. We both reached for a piece, and chuckled at our mutual greed.

"It's not just that." Buttering her bread, she popped a morsel into her mouth and chewed, looking dreamy. "God, that's good! No, it's bigger than that."

Regarding me in the way I privately termed "Dr. Gabriela, psychiatrist," she tilted her head, scanning my face. "In a way, I would almost say you've matured. Or maybe deepened is the right word. I hope that's not insulting. I don't mean it that way."

Swallowing my own bread -- it was delicious -- I shook my head. "Not at all. A lot has happened in two months. Back then, I was adrift. But I now have anchors: a good job, my own apartment, and a wonderful woman in my life. Life's much more settled, if you can ever call life settled."

"I think you can. Nothing's permanent, of course, but you at least have a few things you can count on."

"I hope so." My eyes met hers, and we gazed at each other for a long moment. "Whereas you seem much the same to me: still smart and confident and sassy, knowing where you intend to go in life and sure of the course you've plotted to get there."

She chuckled again. "Lots of naval imagery tonight, chico."

"You can take the boy off the ship..."

"But he'll never stop tasting like salt."

She looked surprised at her own words and I guffawed. "Just like the rim of a margarita glass, dear heart!"

"My favorite summer drink."

Again, we looked at each other, contemplating what the other might be thinking. My heart thudded.

"I'll quench your thirst any time you like," I told her.

"Good. Because my throat suddenly feels absolutely parched."

My own throat went dry at that. Cool, boundary-erecting Gabriela had left the building, replaced by a playful, intriguing flirt.

"Dr. Garcia, are you trying to seduce a poor innocent sailor?"

She looked at the ceiling and grinned. "Let's take that apart. First, I'm not a doctor yet, so it's obvious that you are shamelessly flattering me. Second, you're wearing a nice new suit -- love the tie, by the way -- so, not poor. And third, 'innocent sailor' has to be the oxymoron of the millennium."

I grinned back, enjoying our interplay. "Oh, my! A medic who knows what an oxymoron is! You are trying to seduce me."

"Do I really need to seduce you? Because you seem pretty into me."

"Touché!" I leaned forward, and the smell of warm bread narrowly lost its battle to seduce me, too. "As it happens, you have proven yourself to be a brilliant diagnostician. I am pretty into you. And what's more, I think you're pretty into me."

Crossing her arms over her pretty chest, she lifted her chin and stared at me. "Eyes up here, buddy. What makes you think I'm into you?"

"Oh, just everything about you. The way you look tonight, like the most gorgeous almost-doctor this place has ever seen. The way your eyes sparkle when they meet mine. The way you kiss me on your doorstep."

"Well, I can't refute any of that. So I guess it must be true."

Again, we looked at each other, half smiling, half challenging.

"It would be nice to hear you say it," I remarked, spotting the server making his way towards us with a laden tray.