Sweet Day

With little conversation, Christian walked onto the deck, sat on the steps leading down to the sand and looked out on the night ocean, the crescent moon shining on the waves. Down by the water's edge, people -- really just shadows of themselves -- walking, some hand in hand. Eve joined him, sitting beside him on the steps, smoothing her summer dress down her thighs, then tucking the front of it in between her legs. She made no attempt to hide her nervousness. She had to begin somewhere.

"Look, Christian. What you want from me -- It's just that I don't believe I have anything to offer you."

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. Each of them holding their gaze on the other.

"This whole thing with sex. Those years are behind me. That's a young person's game."

"I don't believe that. Eve. Especially not with you."

Though now afraid to even touch him, she forced herself to raise her hand and run her fingers through his hair, as she had done routinely, affectionately all these years. "Sex," she said, "is such a mystical thing, Christian. Visited on the young. But when you get older . . . it has a strange tendency to fade away."

"Did you like sex when you were my age?"

"Well, yes. Who wouldn't. I had my share of it."

"So what's happened that made it fade?

"This is so hard to talk about, Christian." Even in the darkness, she could feel her face turning red. The words came slowly, a long pause, her voice quivering at first. "I don't know about other people, but sex to me has always been about intimacy. And sometimes for people who have been together for a long time -- decades in my case -- you kind of lose that craving for intimacy with your partner. The years of routine just take their toll."

"Even if it's that same intimacy that I want with you?" he asked. "Is it gone forever from you?"

"It may be too late for me, Christian. The idea of it seems so awkward now. It's embarrassing to even think about. Tossing about naked, opening yourself up to someone. No shame at all. When I look in the mirror at myself, I don't think I have anything to bring to the table."

They sat quietly. She felt her heart was breaking.

* * *

Let's take a walk, he says, clasping her hand, leading them down the beach, walking along the edge of the surf, becoming dark silhouettes, like the other strolling shadows. They step slowly, their bare feet in the cool, wet sand. He says nothing.

To her, everything she had said must have been wrong. She had opened herself up too much. Exposed her soul. Sadness washes over her. Just utter sadness. She begins crying in the darkness. But she won't wipe the tears with her hand. Doesn't want Christian to know. Just keep walking.

But he does see. He stops, pulls her to him and she cries on his shoulder. Then building, really sobbing uncontrollably. More sad than she ever thought she could be. Crying for the emptiness that has consumed her. Crying for the loss of that vibrant young woman she once saw in the mirror. Crying out of sheer fear that Christian won't come home.

She clings to him desperately, pushing her whole body against him, squeezing her arms around his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin, taking it in, committing it to memory so at least no one can take that from her. He kisses her for the first time, but it seems lost on her, save for the softness of his lips. She fears that she may never feel anything again. Only sadness.

In silence they head back to the beach house. On the deck, she reaches for him, pulls him to her. Whispers. "I will always love you, Christian. Just know that. And I'll be here for you."

She releases her hold and takes a step back. Closes her eyes. Throughout most of her life, Eve had carefully planned all of her actions. A woman of deliberation. That's what she thought of herself. Yet, here she is, unexplainably reaching around to the back of her dress, pulling down the zipper. No real understanding of why. Pulling the shoulder straps down. Reaching around again to unhook the bra. Letting it fall down her arms. She looks down at her milky white breasts with their gentle slope and hard nipples. Naked in the evening air. Cups each one with a hand. And looks up at Christian.

"This is all there is, I'm afraid," she says. She massages each breast as he looks on. She caresses her nipples. Then pulls them outward. Looks at him.

"It's been a long time since anyone has kissed my nipples," she says.

But he is frozen in fear and nervousness.

"They're for you now. Would you kiss them?"

He steps to her, hesitating, but bends his head down and takes them, one by one, between his lips.

She feels his body shaking. But she, herself, is now calm. A bit distant. The warmth flowing up her breasts from his kisses seems strange. Her nipples feel stiffer, harder than she can remember them being as he begins gently sucking them. Yet, a part of her seems removed. As if she is standing in the darkness at the corner of the deck, looking on as another woman makes love with him.

With her breasts gently swaying, she slowly leads him down the steps, to the side of the deck and an outdoor shower used to wash off the sand. No walls or privacy. Just a shower head, a shelf with bars of soap and a small platform to stand on. She pulls her dress over her head, steps out of her panties. Then pulls off his tee-shirt, unbuttons his shorts and pulls them down. His boxers follow. Now naked with her. His penis is soft, but starting to awaken. She takes his arm and pulls them both under the flowing water. Probably no one will see. She doesn't care any more.

No words. She washes him, lathers her hands, smooths the soap across his skin. Slowly, very slowly washing him. Palming his chest. Tracing her fingers along his abs. Squatting and washing his legs. His cock now hard and thick, tipping and swaying. She looks at it in the darkness, holds it, lathers it from the tip to his balls. Lathers them too. Still no words. Just the sound of the water and a warm, salty night breeze from the sea. She takes in his scent before the soap can wash it away. His own breathing quickens. She stands. Hands him the soap.

Her eyes lock on his as he begins washing, cupping her breasts. She likes the weight of her breasts in his hands. Likes it when he washes her nipples, pulling gently on them, gliding his fingers over them. He moves, embraces her from behind, glides his palm over her stomach, down to her abdomen. He seems experienced. Must have done this with Amber. Touches between her legs with some expertise. His finger sliding easily into her slit. She shivers. Her knees give a little. Been years since someone took time to touch her there. With her husband it is in and out, just the basics.

She grasps his penis. It has enlarged even more. And harder, so hard she thinks to herself. Hard like the rest of his body. Trained to be in shape for war. She strokes him.

"Eve" he says a little pleadingly. "I know," she says, sensing his urgency.

She leads them into the house, to her bedroom. Turns on a small bedside lamp with a warm dim glow. Now the only light in the house. She lies back on the bed, spreads wide for him, exposing everything between her legs -- her pinkness, the curly dark hair, the soft whiteness in her thighs. She sees hunger in his eyes once he's above her on the bed. Obsession in his face. Desperation too. "It's okay," she says and he plunges into her. So deep and so quick that it takes her breath. Hurts. Two, three, four deep surges and he cums, collapses on top of her.

"Eve, I'm sorry," he says.

"Shhhhhhh. Sleep. We'll have time." She turns off the lamp.

An hour passes, maybe more. From her pillow, she can see the moon over the ocean out the open windows. Faintly hears waves crashing. Breathes in the salt air. The two of them are spooning, his body enveloping hers from behind. She has been thinking about this night as she hears the quiet, steady breathing of his sleep. But now his hand is fondling her right breast as they lie on their sides. He squeezes gently, caresses her nipple.

She turns over, eyes meet. "Let me," she whispers.

Her hand pushes him onto his back. In the darkness she glides her fingers over his chest, his abdomen, his hips. How amazing his young, smooth skin feels. How warm. No blemishes, bumps, rough spots. How utterly perfect, she thinks to herself. How much life there is in him. Lays her head on his chest, breathes in deeply, intoxicated by the aroma of soap, sand and his fresh skin. She plants little kisses all over, deliberately moaning as she goes, letting him know that she now wants this.

Instinct takes over. She guides her face down, then farther, down to his soft penis and balls. She lightly kisses the tip, then each of his balls. Her sense of smell now heightened. She lays the side of her face on him, her cheek against his penis. Moves a hand up to massage his balls. And holds them. Every moment or so she turns her lips in and kisses the penis again until it begins stirring. She strokes it. Watches it rise. Caresses until it is hard and swaying.

"You have such a beautiful dick," she says, holding it upright and without looking away from it. "I just adore the olive color you have. And the strength to it. So much youth and hardness." She squeezes it. Then runs her fingers lightly, very lightly, all around and over the head. Touching the opening. Seeing the droplets come out. She licks the head. Takes it in her mouth, sucking gently, then opening up her throat to take him deep in her. But she stops before he gets too excited.

She kisses his thighs, nips at them with her lips and teeth. All the while, tears well up in her eyes. Her sadness gone. Now her heart is melting for this young boy. Her love for him is so absolute. Unconditional. Beginning to overwhelm her with emotions. She wipes her eyes in the dark. He senses it. Now he makes her lie on her back.

No words. Just touching skin, running his fingers down her ribs, her hips, down her legs, kisses to the inside of her thighs. Then kissing, suckling her nipples, harder than before. With each suck, she moans out loud. Her nipples are on fire with excitement. He lays on top of her, his legs between hers. She lifts her thighs, begins rubbing the insides of hers against the outside of his. So much heat. Never felt so much.

They kiss lightly, then hard and long, tongues searching each other out, each trying to sink into the other's body. She interrupts. Whispers in his ear. Finds herself asking, pleading really, for what she has never asked a man before.

"Lick my cunt, Christian. Taste me. Put your tongue in me."

She turns her head on the pillow. Looks out at the moon through the open windows. Feels the touch of his tongue on the slit. It opens her, his tongue strong but gentle. So gentle she thinks. He licks the lips of her vagina, caresses in delicate circles. Then wiggling it back and forth over her clit. But feathery light. She feels his breath on her opening. Her heart and soul drifting into some other place. Another world. Everything hot. Wet. Slippery.

He rubs her stomach with one hand. Slides two fingers of the other in her vagina, curls them up, touches the spot. The warmth between her legs, deep in her cunt, begins to spread. Up her abdomen, like an exquisite drug coursing throughout her body. Feels the blood rushing through all her veins. Nothing else exists anymore, just the two of them and their splendid bodies melting into each other. Her heart seems to be expanding, getting larger and larger. The inside of her body so alive. On fire. Then explosion. Heat everywhere. Her legs squeezing his head and face. She can't stop. Wetness pouring from her onto his face.

"Fuck me, Christian. Now," she says.

Then whispers to herself: "Please. Please. Fuck me."

His hardness and heat fill her as he enters. She wraps her legs around him, squeezing, pulling him into her. Throwing arms around him, pulling him tight, the side of her face against the side of his. He moves in and out, slowly. Heavily. So heavy. And so hard. Back and forth, back and forth. Slowly. Her body falls into the rhythm. Every part of her quickly again on fire, even before her first orgasm has subsided. Back and forth.

She can hear nothing but the distant ocean waves. Crashing and surging. Waves now rolling to the same rhythm as their bodies. Waves inside her now, rolling and building as the heat is building. The fire inside her roaring back. Back and forth. His cock feels so large, huge and growing, searching. Hard enough to break her in two, reaching deeper in her than any man ever before, into her very core. She is helpless. At his mercy. No will to resist even if she wanted to. Hanging on for dear life. And then erupting. Squeezing him as if their lives depended on it. Flooding him again. But it doesn't stop. Just keeps going and going. Fire and unending waves, all inside her. Rolling endlessly. Rippling and Rippling. Never this long before. Never this exquisite. He lunges even deeper, sperm jettisoning in her. Once. Twice. Three, then four times. She is overcome. Tears rolling down her face. She clings to him. Her body shaking. Her eyes closed. She cries out. Bites his shoulder to make sure he is still there. She feels like she's being reborn.

* * *

An hour passes. She is curled into him, holding still so as not to disturb him. She watches the sun's rays slowly begin their rise above the horizon, the ocean coming into view. She can hear his breathing, sense the weight of his penis, now getting hard in his sleep, pressed up against the opening between her hips. For her, everything is too splendid to sleep. The coming sun, the breeze, the new day. She adores these sensations. She can feel every square inch of her body. Loves this skin on skin. Marvels at his nudity. Relishes her own nakedness. And this wonderful slit between her legs, wet and soft, is a part of her again. The center of her heart and soul.

So overcome with it all, she slips down in bed, begins stroking his penis, running two fingers, one on each side, up and down its length, making it even harder, then sucking on its head. She has to have this. Can't wait. She licks his skin up and down, kisses and fondles his balls. She adores his cock and balls. So much a part of him that she'd never known. But now she knows him as a man. And she has to know it all. Has to experience it. He awakens as she takes him deep in her throat, sliding her mouth back and forth, she needing him to cum in her mouth. Wanting to swallow it all. It would be the completeness between them. A feeling she has never had before. She sucks and sucks as he moans. Sucking, licking, stroking. Then his seed erupts in her mouth, spewing down her throat. She kisses his penis endlessly, little light kisses as he subsides. She crawls back into his embrace. Lets him sleep. Never before has she felt so alive. And so filled with love.

This night was meant to be a simple gift to him. A going away for her soldier boy. For him to remember throughout his deployment. But this gift was not from her. It was a gift presented to her. She understands that now. Christian has given her the best gift of all. One missing for so long: Desire. The return of pure desire. The ability to once again love passionately.

As she watches the orange colors blend with the coming blue sky, she senses a oneness about herself. Her heart and body in rhythm. She has never given herself so completely to a man before. Not ever. Until now.

Gone is her disgust at the incest. She thinks of the novel she had pulled off the bookshelf the night before. That so inspired her. It was "Lady Chatterley's Lover." She had read and committed to memory a passage from D.H. Lawrence:

"No form of love is wrong, so long as it is love, and you yourself honour what you are doing. Love has an extraordinary variety of forms! And that is all there is in life, it seems to me."

When Christian comes home, well, there's no way to tell what the future brings for each of them. It may be that she can never be honest with anyone about her feelings for him now. But she will love him nonetheless.

By the time Christian opens his eyes, the sun will be shining brightly into their windows. She will be there, beside him in bed. And she knows what the day will bring. They will mix up some blueberry pancakes, a favorite all these years. Their last cup of morning coffee will be out on the deck, to smell the salt air and feel the ocean wind through their hair. And there will be morning conversation and laughter. Then, she will lead him back to bed and hold him for the longest time. They will be naked. And they will make love all day and deep into the night. It will be a sweet day. Such a sweet day.

end