The Crew Pt. 07

The only real "business" we talked over 'brunch' was reviewing schedules for the next few days. It didn't take long. It was the same every time my dad went in for treatment. Every six to eight weeks. I knew what was coming. Friends who know me well don't question why I disappear for those same several days every six to eight weeks. Unlike aquaintances, with their own agendas, who want my time when they want it and try to convince me that I need to 'grow up and break free' or some other bullshit. Some even pretend to be concerned about how 'hard' it seems on me. But they don't get it. It's not 'hard' for me. I don't think about it like that. I can't. It just is. It's about love. It's about family. It's about what family does. And that comes first.

My mom never took to driving the freeways or interstates. They freak her out. And my dad is in no shape to drive at all after two days of chemo and radiation. So...I'm the driver. It is what it is. During those times, it's just what I do.

My folks were heading back to the farm that night. I would head back in the morning and spend the day taking care of anything Herbie had missed. On Tuesday, I'd drive them out to New York. We'd check in at the Travel Haven in Rochester. Grab a bite to eat at the Clam Shak. Early Wednesday morning, dad gets admitted for his two day regimen. I'll trade back and forth with mom, sleeping in shifts at the motel and going for food. At least one of us always stays with him there in his hospital room. Talking, watching TV, reading. Or just simply being there. Sometimes the treatments are brutal. On Friday morning, dad should be able to be released and I'll drive us all home. Unless things happen to have been particularly brutal, in which case we'll probably stop for the night at the Travel Haven in Erie, Pennsylvania and finish the trip the next day.

While we're gone this time, Sharon and Scooter are planning to stay at the farm. Checking on Herbie and making a dent in the canning. Mainly carrots, beans, tomatoes and peaches. If they have time, they might even get some peas and corn in the freezer. And some freezer jam. They'll probably get there on Wednesday and stay at least until we get back. Just to see what we need.

I don't remember falling asleep in the afternoon sun as my mind floated. Feeling the breeze and the rays on my skin. The background sound of the engine droning hypnotically. Baking in warm as it is-ness and feeling strangely safe under Scoot's watchful eye. I vaguely remember smiling in my heart thinking, "It's gonna be alright. This is famiIy...", but I don't remember when I discarded my shorts.

***************

The boat was already tied up at the river house dock when Scooter softly kissed my cheek awake. She smiled and said nothing, mildly amused at what must have been my expression, as I grappled, confused, with what time and day it might be. At some point, I had slumped onto my side on the back bench cushion and drifted off half curled and twisted. My body told me I was about to regret that position. I sat up and stretched, loudly cracking a kink in my neck. Arching my back produced another couple of pops. My surroundings and world and life and the universe and such slowly came into focus. For some inane reason unrelated to anything useful, the number 42 popped into my mind. I grinned at my own inner joke and mentally told all the porpoises out there listening, "You're welcome."

Finally, I settled on fully sitting up. Sort of. Feet on the deck. Legs apart. Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees a practiced a bit of breathing.

Scooter was sitting on the boat deck directly in front of me, almost between my feet, in her uniquely typical Scooterish naked lotus position. Watching. Almost studying. Patiently waiting for me to come fully back from wherever I'd been. Once satisfied, she smiled.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi back," I replied. "What time is it?"

"Almost four. You were dead to the world so we didn't disturb you. You looked so serious." She reached up and gently traced her fingers across my forehead. "Like now. You're frowning at the world. You'll get wrinkles."

"I've got a lot on my mind...a lot of things to sort out..."

Her hands moved down to the sides of my neck, pressing. Massaging. Leaning toward me like that, her breast pressed against my shin. "I know," she said. "You were dreaming about it. Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

"About what?" I asked.

"I couldn't tell. I only heard half of the conversation." One of her hands drifted down to the top of my thigh. The other caressed my shoulder, then down across my chest. "Don't worry. It wasn't anything bad, from what I could make out. And I'd never tell anyone else about it anyway."

"What you could make out? What was I saying?"

"Nothing much. Really. Just bits and snippets. Like, I think you were filling the tank and checking the oil on your mom's station wagon. Then you and Sal were arguing over a lyric. Then pretty much just names, like you were talking to a bunch of people at once. Me. Petey. Sal. Your mom. Bobbi. Marcie. Kelly. Herbie..." She paused and appeared to be thinking. Hesitating to reveal how much of my inner thoughts she'd actually heard. "...but mostly Bobbi and Marcie and me..." She looked down. Embarassed?

"Yeah, the three of you have been on my mind a lot lately. Pete and I talked some about it this morning. He says I'm overthinking things, but I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I think. I mean, Bobbi's the first girl I really ever...you know...did anything sexual with. The first one who ever...touched me...like that. Or wanted me to touch her. She's the first one I ever went down on. The first who ever used her mouth on me. You know. Like that. You watched us that night in the barn."

"I know," she said looking deeply into my eyes, the hand on my thigh beginning to lightly stroke.

"I really like her, Scoot, but she confuses me."

"Jamie," she sighed, shifting and wrapping both arms around my leg. "Bobbi is one of my very best friends. We talk about everything. We've even talked about you. I love her and I love you. And I don't want to see either one of you get hurt. Not like Karla hurt Pete. Or worse. And you need to know that Bobbi is complicated. With her crazy family, how could she not be?"

"She told me she loves me," I said. "I'm not sure I know what to do with that. I love her too, but I'm not 'in love'..."

"Exactly, she said. "And I don't believe that Bobbi's 'in love' with you either. She's in love with our family, and family family. She's never experienced anything like it."

"So, do you think Petey's right?" I asked. "About my overthinking some of this stuff?"

"Compared to Petey, you overthink everything. That's what you do. But he may have a point. I've been around you guys and family in all over skin all my life. Casual skin and casual contact. Naked hugs and cuddles. But I never touched a guy in a deeply sexual way before Sal. And then you. Pete's the same way. Marcie too, I think."

"It's like so much is happening so fast..." I started.

"I know, right?" she giggled. "It's like somebody put something into the water here, or out at the quarry, and bam! All of a sudden I'm touching and being touched and playing and watching other people play and being watched and loving it and freaking out about it all at the same time."

"That's how I feel," I said.

"I think that's how we all feel. And it's even harder for Bobbi. She'd never even seen a real live naked guy before that night at the quarry. She'd never just sat around with naked friends or skinny dipped or played like a kid. Throw in touching and kissing and the hotter stuff? I think it's all so new and intense for all of us. That's why it feels so confusing."

Neither one of spoke for a bit. We just looked into each other's faces. Her hand had continued, almost on its own, stroking feather touches up and down my inner thigh coming closer and closer to my cock. We both looked down as she ran her fingers over my balls. She stopped. It was like we had both just then consciously realized she was doing it. "I love you," she said. "And I love touching you. But I wonder..." she let her voice trail off.

"Me too..." I said. "You wonder if maybe we should back off a little? The two of us?"

"Mmm Hmm." She went back to hugging my leg. "If things were different...but...I don't know. If they were, maybe you wouldn't be you or I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't want that. So let's back off and have one less thing to confuse us. But this is still OK, right? I don't think I can ever give up cuddling with you."

"Me either," I said. "So, I guess we're still good?"

"We're good. And I'm good with whatever as far as you and Bobbi, but Petey's right. Don't overthink it. Or Marcie. I mean, Marcie's Marcie and she's had a case on you and Petey both since grade school."

"I know," I said. "And I love her too. She's sweet. But confusing as hell. Pete says they're just friends and and don't want to be anything more. He's giving serious thought to asking out Kelly."

"Kelly's a hoot," she smiled. "I think they'd be great together. And Marcie wouldn't care. She's...how did you put it?...ambidexterously amorous. Maybe I'll try that out. What would you think if I made a run at Oscar?"

"Fine. You seem to have a weakness for big hulking brutes."

"What's your weakness?" she laughed, digging a finger into my ribs. A severely ticklish spot. I pushed her off and away and stood up.

"Food. I'm hungry again, so food is my weakness right now."

"Ooo,Ooo, I just remembered something else from your dream. You also mentioned something called a clamburger."

"That one makes sense, for sure," I told her laughing. "Every time we go to Rochester, we always go the same place our first night there. The Clam Shak. My dad and I always order the same sandwich. It's sort like a crab cake, but with a half pound of chopped clam and less breading. It's huge and fried and served on a toasted bun with lettuce and tomato and slathered in mayo dill relish."

"That sounds disgusting and amazing at the same time," she said. "Now I'm hungry too. Come on. I think there are leftovers left from brunch."

***************

Scooter and I had the house to ourselves for most of the rest of the day. Pete and Marcie had gone to get groceries for both houses. They said they were planning a movie and pizza night after, at Marcie's place. Maurice and Miss Betty weren't expected back before midnight.

Scooter dug out all the leftovers she could find, along with half a bag of month old taco chips and some cheddar flavored cheese like substance in a pressurized can. We smoked a bowl, opened two beers and put some cool jazz on the stereo. I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening snacking and writing. Trying to let myself float back and capture that hint of the day. Its elusive flavor. She tried to call Bobbi a couple times. No answer. No machine. She spent the rest of the time snacking and reading magazines and stealing glimpses of what I was writing.

It was just after nine when I closed my notebook. The day's story...this story...had written itself. I was merely along for the ride. I got up and stretched. Went into the kitchen and pulled out our last two beers. I had just handed one off to Scooter when Marcie and Pete arrived with the groceries. And a pizza for us. Their timing was perfect. We were out of leftovers and the pressurized cheeze in a can thingy died well before the last taco chip.

Putting the groceries away with four people took no time at all. Freezer. Fridge. Cupboard. Pantry. Somehow they even came back with more beer. They didn't stay. The groceries at Marcie's house were already stashed, along with their shopping clothes, and their pizza and movie were waiting. Before they left, though, Pete caught sight of the notebook on the dining table. He raised an eyebrow, questioning. I nodded. He leafed through the pages quickly, pausing only a couple times to carefully read or reread a short something. He drew in a breath as he carefully closed it and put it back.

"Wow...Can I...read that through in the morning before you leave?"

"Sure. I guess. I really haven't gone back and read it myself yet. It's probably raw."

"It's good," he said. "Really good. I think raw kinda captures the raw that you're feeling right now. Can Marcie read it too?"

"If that's OK?" Marcie added.

"Sure," I said. "But there's some stuff about..."

"I'm a big girl. I can deal with raw. And I love you." She stretched up and kissed me. A long tender kiss. Body close. Her nipples dragged on my chest as she pulled away. "I'll read it with Pete in the morning. Our pizza's getting cold."

Scoot and I smoked another bowl and ate about half of our pizza. She tried to call Bobbi again, but gave up. She held up her empty bottle to me. "One more?"

I went to the fridge. "He bought two kinds."

"Leiney," she called. "I won't tell Sal if you don't." I brought two. Before I could sit back down, she held out her hand. "Gimme," she said. "I'm not waiting till morning to read it." I retrieved the notebook.

Scoot took her time. She always does. Reading and re-reading passages. Frowning in concentration. Smiling. Sighing. Stopping to wipe her eyes. Looking over at me as if with some new found understanding. She finally wiped her eyes one last time as she closed it and laid it on the coffee table.

"Well?" I said.

"I don't know what to say. There's so much that I didn't know. Didn't realize. I love you so, so much. And you're right. It's raw. But it's beautiful too. I want to read it again. But for now...can we cuddle?"

We cuddled in silence. Nothing urgent. A little kissing. Caressing. Comforting. We drifted off in each others arms. She barely stirred when I got up and covered her with an afghan. Then I shut of all the lights except the one in the bathroom. I got my pillow and sheet. On the porch, I felt my way to the hammock. Clouds hid the moon and stars and the air smelled like rain. I fell back asleep to sounds of the crickets and frogs.

I'm not sure how much was due exhaustion and how much was due to my mother's potent herb, but I had some crazy dreams that night. The kind where you're not really sure if you're dreaming or waking or somewhere between. Scenes that would come and go. The river. The quarry. The farm. Bobbi. Scooter. Marcie. Izzy and Frank at the campground. Vivid but strangely surreal.

Thunder woke me the first time. If it was waking. A rumbling off in the distance. A gentle rain fell on the metal roof. A sound that I love. One of my comfort sounds. I may have stirred and pulled up the blanket. But...I didn't have a blanket...then did...

At some point during the night, in a half dream, the hammock rocked. A pair of wet lips kissed me softly on the cheek. The face of the kisser was damp as well.

Later, I dreamed that the blanket was gone again and the sheet was lifted. A supple warm someone climbed in to join me. Wrapping my body with hers. Breasts pressed to my side. An arm and a leg across me. Damp cheek on my chest. Later still, I was on my side. A soft little bottom was backed up and hugging my manhood. My arm was draped, just so, allowing my hand to cup the globe of a breast, its nipple hard and proud.

Then I was alone in the back of the boat on the open water. No engine. No sound. Not a cloud in the sky. No land in sight.

Scene change. My parents, Sharon and Robb, Scooter and Pete and Bobbi and Marcie and Sal, standing on the porch of our farmhouse. Waving goodbye as I drove away.

Back on the river house porch and the rain was gone. So were the blanket and sheet. The shock of the early chill on my naked skin. The someone had her soft lips around the head of my penis, not bobbing or stroking but gently suckling. I could feel an eruption rising, but it was different. It wasn't an urgent need. I was fully hard, but the suckling coaxed my seed from me slowly, then licked me clean and kissed me. Again, her cheeks were damp. Her hair fell around my face. Curls. Then she was gone.

The sun was up and the sky was clear. The early river sounds filled the air. From inside the house, I could vaguely hear voices. Hushed.

"Did you read it?"

"Yes. Last night and this morning."

"Yes. Sometime during the night. I couldn't sleep."

"Me too. Twice. I cried both times."

The voices and sounds blended to lull me back to consciousness. I could have sworn I caught just a glimpse of the back of a naked Marcie or Scoot disappearing into the house as I blinked the sleep from my eyes.

I maneuvered around and sat up, the blanket and sheet wrapped around my waist. There by my knee, on a table between the two Adirondack chairs, was a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a plate. Fresh buttered toast and sliced oranges.