Swim, Butterfly Ch. 15

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 15

Good and Hard

Two more weeks. That's all. Two more weeks of early mornings, breakfasts, lunchboxes, filthy fingernails, whining, nagging, then--BOOM! A lightening-quick, highly adult covert operation.

While I'm busy partitioning little bags of M&Ms for lunches, or pairing off small pink and purple socks from the dryer, I think about trailing my fingernails up Jimmy's thigh, or imagine the weight of him on me. What else would you think about while folding the umpteenth load of laundry? More laundry? Nah. I imagine things like walking through the grocery store, dressed in clean sweats and sneakers, and getting it good and hard in the stockroom, maybe going down on Jimmy in his kitchen while the kettle whistles away.

It's an average Tuesday; kids in school, Pete at work. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Probably Pete or school or Mom, the only calls I get. Or maybe it's my mother-in-law, shoring up plans for Saturday breakfast at their local diner, since we didn't celebrate Christmas with them this year.

I roll my eyes while digging out my phone, then pause--it's Jimmy. Odd. He never calls me,

"Hey, Jim, what's up?"

"Hi, can you talk?" Jimmy asks.

"Yeessss, are you okay?" I drop a second sock on the floor.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thought I'd light your phone on fire and call you this time. I figure the kids are in school and Pete out earning a paycheck for you. I just wanted to hear your voice."

Ooh, he's laying on that low, smooth voice.

"Mmm, nice to hear yours. You don't miss me too much, do you?" I ask in a sweet kitten voice.

"Ah, no, not really. I'm just bored."

I purse my lips, then respond, "Ha! Right."

He sighs, "Actually, I would love to see you. It's cold here. I'd whisk you from the train station to my apartment, then I'd take all your clothes off and force you to snuggle up and keep me warm, nothing else."

"Nothing else at all?"

"Well," he chuckles.

"I guess you should have told Santa what you wanted when you had the chance. Oh well. So, speaking of, how were your holidays?" I ask, leaving the washer banging away as I make my way up to June's room.

"They were okay. Nothing crazy. I spent Christmas with the family in Brooklyn. Spent a ton on my niece and nephew."

"Aw, nice. You didn't tear up the old bedroom, did you?" I smile.

"Oh no, in fact, I was so quiet they almost forgot I was there. They started asking questions."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, my mother really asked why I was so quiet. Did I have a girl on my mind? Then she started on when you gonna get married? That sort of stuff."

"They still don't know about you?"

"Now what do you mean?" Jimmy asks.

"What you do for a living? Do they know?"

"I think Marina--my sister, remember--I think she suspects something, but she keeps her mouth shut. I don't think my parents know, but if they do, they're not saying anything either, just heads in the sand. Now, if I were whoring around Brooklyn, that might be a different matter."

"So, what do you tell them?"

"I just shrug a lot, give them vague answers. I tell them there's a woman I like, and we'll see. Vague answers deflect them pretty well, and then they go back to bickering over crock pot lids, or whatever shit."

"Huh, interesting. Um, Jimmy?"

"Yes?"

"What'cha get me for Christmas?"

He laughs, "Oh, fuck you! I didn't get you anything, sweetheart! Besides, if I recall, someone studded you up pretty well a few months ago."

"Mm, yes, diamonds are a girl's best friend."

"And rubbers are a boy's." Jimmy snickers.

I laugh out loud. "How would we know?" A tingle tickles me, and my free hand slips down between my legs. I lie down on the white eyelet quilt of June's bed.

"Jimmy?"

"Yes?"

"I'm touching myself," I sigh.

"Am I there this time?"

"Yes, always..."

"Let me lay my hand on yours, and don't stop moving. Don't let me stop you. Keep pleasing yourself," Jimmy whispers.

"Mm, well, fuck yeah." My breathing hardens, "I'm moving, Jimmy, I'm getting wet."

"Want me to slide my fingers inside you?"

"Yes!" I pant, gently sliding my fingers inside, so wet and warm, gasping at the tug and pull, imagining Jimmy there instead, "You feel so good, Jimmy--wish it was you."

"Shh, it is... imagine me going down on you, my tongue, warm and soft, all over you."

My back arches, my head digging back into the pillow. I moan while Jimmy coaches me in that low, calm voice. A fluttering blooms in me, a yawning ache in my back. I drop the phone onto the bed by my ear,

"Jimmy... can you still hear me?"

"I hear you loud and clear, my love. What are you doing now?"

"I'm... I'm fucking myself. Jimmy, please help me!"

"Okay, but you have to listen to me."

"I will, you know I will...," I gasp.

"Are you gonna cum?"

"...soon."

"Good, now stop," he says.

"What?" I open my eyes.

"Stop."

"I don't want to stop!"

"Stop." Jimmy repeats.

Good Lord, not now! But I do as he says, and he continues, "Now, go wash your hands and go about your day. Put it away for another time. You may be surprised where it turns up again."

"What if I actually have an orgasm with Pete?"

Jimmy bursts out laughing, "Oh my goodness, dear, would that be such a bad thing?"

"Well, no, but wouldn't you be jealous?"

"Uh, no, I'd be rather proud. Proud of everyone, like I was there, passing the baton to you, you carry it along, and he finishes."

I wipe my fingers off on my sweats. "Are you breaking up with me?" I joke, my voice pinched.

"No, no, no! You don't get off that easy," I hear him snicker.

"So, I get off two weeks from now?"

"Yes, as long as you show up."

"I'll do my best."

"Yes, you will. In the meantime, write me a letter. How about this--tell me about the woman you'd be if you weren't the woman you are now. That's your new assignment. And remember, I'm neither critic nor censor." I hear rustling, like bed sheets, in the background.

"No, you're not. What two wonderful things not to be."

"Get to work, then!" he orders.

"Yes, sir!"

"Goodbye then, for now."

Goodbye never.

***

A Letter to Jimmy

The trickling water again. Always trickling water--the tub, the shower, the dishwasher,

washing machine, the rain, the shore, the tears. I never realized how much of my life is water.

Not just physically, but in every convulsive step of my life, I meet water. Water washes. It can wash away; clean water, dirty water. Waves and motion. It sustains, it can drown. I can put it in a cup; I can't control it.

Do we live our emotions like water? Small amounts stay under control and under wraps; large amounts push us around, even drown us. Who made me think of this? Me? You? I do not know. Neither perhaps. Perhaps just a thought, a stream of thought unsummoned, coaxed out of my mind by the hypnotic trill of the faucet's trickling down over my hands and the pots and plates and pans. So much water, so much water for me.

There, Jimmy, that is my letter to you. The woman I'd be if I weren't the woman I am. Don't

tell me the man you'd be if you weren't the man you are. I don't want to hear of

any other man.

Sealed with a kiss, (I wish this paper had a watermark, ha ha!)

Sincerely,

Inconclusive