The Improbable Tenant

But while Connie lowered her voice to a bare whisper that could not possibly have been overheard, she was unfortunately one of those persons who is congenitally unable to talk without using both of her hands, and in this case occasionally even her lips as well, and while Cathy was so engrossed in the subject matter that she was unaware of anyone else in the room, the same was not true for the other diners. Connie's gestures were gracefully precise, demonstrative and absolutely unmistakable, and quickly became a source of the most intense amusement for several male patrons. And since Connie's knowledge of the subject could not possibly be exhausted in less than ten minutes at least, her entertainment value continued to soar.

The female companions of the audience, however, were not at all amused. A couple of angry hisses resulted, and one poor fellow received such a vicious under-table kick that he overset his plate onto the tile floor.

The crash of china caused both women to look up, in time to see the unfortunate diner scrabbling for the check and hurrying after his wife, who was marching quickly from the room.

"Some people", remarked Connie, "shouldn't be taken out in public. That poor woman, she must be so embarrassed.

Their conversation continued on a variety of topics, until Connie expressed a wistful hope that she would one day meet a man who would prove to be The Right One.

"But Connie, whatever happened with Russell? I thought you liked him a lot."

"Oh, he called and I called, but you know, he's down there and I'm up here, and anyway I don't think he looks at me as a long-term interest."

"Maybe you didn't see him at his best. Paul said Russell is really going through a lot right now." She didn't want to tell Connie what she had gotten from Paul, would rather Connie heard about Russell from himself.

"I know, he said his wife left him while they were in Iraq. That's too bad. He really misses his son. But, see, that's another thing; I don't want to catch somebody on the rebound. Maybe he should take some time off."

"I thought he was very nice. And Paul thinks the world of him, says he's the steadiest, most loyal guy in the world, never makes a wrong move. When I asked Paul about Russell he said he was doing OK and Russell said he thought you were super. That's the word he used, super."

"At least I wouldn't have to worry about him being lazy or a wimp."

"What if I asked Paul to invite Russell up for a weekend sometime? We could all stay at my house together, plan some things, have some fun?"

And so Paul was dutifully enlisted to extend the invitation to Russell; he could not come before the following weekend, but in due course arrived after driving all night in a tired old beater that appeared surprised that it had successfully made the trip. Russell was full of energy, as always, for in his world, and Paul's, sleep deprivation did not begin before forty-eight hours at least. The men were more than glad to see one another, and engaged in a ritual of chest-bumping and arm-punching that reminded the women to two very large, undisciplined puppies. The admiration in Russell's eyes, directed towards herself, made Connie instantly forget any prior reluctance, and the four were off and running.

Russell was made aware of the change in Paul's and Cathy's relationship, and was delighted. Cathy got his celebratory hug, and assurances that Paul was "the best, absolutely the best." Yes, I know, thank you. He's so lucky to have you for a friend.

It had been Connie's idea to go to the beach where she could, in a manner of speaking, put her best foot forward, and the cooler was already packed. The beach turned out to be an inspired idea; the women were stunners in their bikinis, and Paul and Russell, even in ratty, faded bathing trunks were equally handsome, and the two couples attracted a good deal of furtive admiration. Lotions were liberally applied with help, lots of help. And when Paul and Russell tired of sitting (active young men do eventually tire of sitting, even in the company of beautiful, scantily clad women) they swam like otters, and eventually got the girls into the water as well.

A power boat appeared, towing a rider in a parachute, and the men gazed at it silently and somewhat longingly, but it was clear that it would not do for Cathy and Connie. But then sailing dinghies were spotted on the horizon; it was discovered that they could be rented, and the party adjourned to the docks, never mind that Russell's only experience with boats involved the inflatable commando variety. They shoved off, and immediately it became a competitive event with Paul and Russell at the tillers; an unequal contest, since Paul had sailed once before and had at least a rudimentary notion of wind propulsion.

Then Connie took over from Russell; Connie, who, in a previous relationship had crewed in some serious competitions in just this sort of boat; and in scant seconds she and Russell were rushing past with whoops of delight, shouting nautical insults. But not for long, and after their boat had gained a few hundred meters it yawed, slowed and then stopped, sails flapping idly. Paul and Cathy glided past (at a respectful distance) a seemingly empty dinghy, the opposing crew apparently together involved in an inspection of some interesting part of the boat's interior; or perhaps not.

They sailed on, Cathy pressed tightly against Paul: captain's orders, for their weight had to be distributed just so, the better to speed their progress, although just which principle of naval engineering was served by his arm around her waist and his thumb hooked in her biking bottom was not clear. Paul admired the symmetry of the white sails against blue sky, the feel of Cathy's bare legs against his own, and decided not for the first time in the past few weeks that he had never been happier. He could not believe how much his world had changed; it seemed impossible that just six months before he had been living in suffocating heat, bedeviled by flies and vermin, foul odors (some of them his own), covered in dust and filth, never enough sleep, coarse clothing and coarser language, and always living with the crushing burden of responsibility that he had been so glad to put aside, and now missed so terribly.

He glanced down at Cathy, saw her contentment, and decided the time was right.

"I have something I want to tell you."

"Me, too, but you first."

"Cathy Richardson, I am totally in love. I want you next to me all the time, and I never want to be with anyone else."

"That sounds wonderful. Say it again, please."

"I love you, Cathy. All the way."

"Paul, I love you, too. I was just waiting for the right time to say it."

"I would have told you this a couple of weeks ago, but I was afraid you weren't ready to hear it."

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I'm ready now."

They kissed, and the boat yawed, almost gibed, and for a second it appeared their love might become memorably wet, and then they were serenely sailing again. Cathy did not know precisely where their relationship was going, just as she could not predict the course of the boat, but she trusted Paul to make their voyage a success; and in the meantime, it was a wonderful ride.

Connie and Russell were back under way, the centerboard trunk and other protuberances having prevented a more thorough investigation. This time they could not overtake Paul, the careful observer, who had noted and copied Connie's adjustment of the sails, related them to changes in the boat's performance, and now was able to maintain his lead. Another hour of pleasant sailing, and hunger and dusk drove them to return.

The public beach house was predictably squalid, but a nearby yacht club was not. Paul deftly overcame the locks on the locker room doors and they waltzed in as if they owned the place (like Republicans, he said, the closest thing to a political statement Cathy could remember from him), and they had Russell as insurance, a man most unlikely to be challenged by prudent management. They showered and changed in luxury before dinner.

A lovely dinner at a seafront restaurant, and by unspoken mutual consent they headed for home, stars in the sky and stars in their eyes. Wine for the women and beer for the men (Paul loved wine, but had only beer with Russell, who drank nothing else) and then Cathy suggested they might play a game, some variety in the evening.

She mentioned several board games, but got only blank looks from Paul and Russell. Did they not ever play games in their spare time? More blank looks; spare time, it seemed, was for them an oxymoron. What sort of games did they play in the army? Paul and Russell exchanged a look that contained equal parts confusion and horror. Surely she could not mean craps, not poker. Paul had a vision of military games that included files of men playing catch with a telephone pole, or perhaps the melees in the Bear Pit at Ranger camp, unspeakable brutality that he would like to forget. Russell had memories of good-natured roughhousing in squad tents, the hip throws, flying bodies and choke holds that always resulted in broken cots, abrasions and worse. And then Paul brightly recalled, "We played liar's dice."

"That's it!" Russell chimed in. "Find five dice, and two cups." For this version was played under the more complex Ranger rules, and oh, you haven't played? No matter, it only takes a minute to learn. And so they played, although Cathy proved a hopeless liar who had to be coached at every turn while Connie, on the other hand, found a game she was born to play. A silly game, but fun, and it went on for a half-hour until Connie put on some dreamy music and pulled Russell up to dance.

Russell protested, but Connie showed him that dancing did not necessarily require him to move his feet at all; he could hold her while she swayed against him in close contact, her cheek on his chest, and hand on the back of his neck, and his reluctance vanished.

Cathy was ready to dance as well, and the lights were turned down to a glow. They held each other for long minutes, hands moving slowly here and there; long, gentle kisses, a few whispers, while the atmosphere grew steadily more sensuous and two couples enjoyed the prelude to passion.

Russell and Connie were the first to break; he silently picked her up like a feather and carried her up the stairs, she nibbling at his ear. Cathy waited another minute or two, still in Paul's arms, then asked softly and coyly "What are we going to do now, lieutenant?"

She could feel his chest bouncing with silent laughter – a totally unexpected reaction – and felt slightly miffed. "What's so funny?" Are you laughing at me?

"Just a private joke."

"So tell me."

"I will, but not tonight. I don't want to spoil the mood."

"If you'll promise to tell me tomorrow, I have a surprise for you."

"Of course I'll tell you. What's the surprise?"

"In a few minutes. Help me clean up."

They did, and set the timer for coffee in between more kissing and stroking, for neither wished to allow the atmosphere to fade. They crept softly up the stairs, arms around each other, her hand in his back pocket, so as not to disturb the guests whose room they had to pass.

In their passion Connie and Russell had left their door open, and even before Cathy reached it she could hear rhythmic gasps and ahs. She could not help but look. In the light from the scented candle (another burned in her room) she saw Russell and Connie lying diagonally on the bed, fully engaged. Connie was on her back, one arm around his neck and the other over her head, beautiful legs exposed, breasts bouncing as Russell drove rapidly and powerfully into her. Cathy could not look away; it was the most erotic sight imaginable. Look at that beautiful man; such muscles; do we look as good when we're making love? She tightened her arm around Paul, felt his answering squeeze, and after another long moment he gently moved her along.

In the privacy of their room she buried her face in his neck, whispered "I'm sorry, but that was so sexy I had to look. I hope Connie didn't see us."

"No need to be sorry. Yeah, it was very sexy. But not as sexy as you."

Then they were absorbed in each other, each as aroused as they had ever been, both determined to go slow, to make the pleasure last. Paul loved to undress her, slowly, while they were standing, had learned how to make it very erotic for them both, and he did so now. He was himself naked before he discovered her thong. "Is this your surprise? I love it."

"Not quite." And she slowly slipped off the thong to reveal the real surprise, her freshly trimmed, sculpted and waxed Brazilian cut.

"I'm speechless. You did this for me? It, it's gorgeous. I love it."

"I was afraid you wouldn't. Connie talked me into it."

"Bless her." A horrible thought intruded; does she want me to...?

This time, she anticipated him. "Don't even think about it. I want you just the way you are."

She was back in his arms, hands roaming everywhere. Then, urgently, he steered her into the bed. "Mind if I have a look?" It became a very detailed look, one that soon had her moaning his name, gasping, and did not end until Cathy felt the lid blow off her sensuality in a shattering climax. Paul lay with his cheek on her stomach, lightly stroking her breasts, her arms, until she grasped his hands; she was still coming down from her experience, her whole body so sensitive that his gentlest touches were almost painful; and he let her rest.

In another minute she felt ready to continue, and wanted to reciprocate, but Paul was way past foreplay. He rolled her over, gently spread her legs, and entered her from behind, only the second time he had done her this way. The first time, Cathy had felt somewhat exposed but tonight she felt comfortable, knowing he liked it this way, wanting to satisfy him completely. She rolled and pushed herself against him, slowly ran a hand between their legs to lightly stroke him and he began to thrust into her.

Now it was his turn to gasp as he increased his rhythm, running his hands over her back, her upper legs, gripping her hips and pounding harder and faster until Cathy felt the headboard touching her head. Mm, wow, he's really active tonight. "Oh, Paul. Yes, baby. Oh, that feels so good." Paul redoubled his efforts, was over the edge, thought he felt the earth move as he finished almost violently and then lay flat upon her, kissing her neck, her cheek, her ear. "Cathy, thank you, thank you. That was perfect. Better than perfect."

Some pillow talk, murmurs, and then they dozed lightly for who knows how long. Cathy woke to find Paul on his back and herself sprawled on top of him, head on his chest. But there was something else; in the stillness she could hear a faint, rhythmic movement from the guest bedroom: Connie and Russell enjoying one another again.

She recalled the earlier, erotic scene and felt a stirring inside. Is he awake? Cathy began to slowly fondle his chest and was rewarded by a complementary stroking of her back. "Are you awake? Can I bother you again?"

"You could never be a bother."

"I just want to touch you a little. You don't have to do anything if you're tired."

"You'll find out how tired I am."

She propped herself up across his body and stroked his stomach, observing that he was not yet ready for action, but when she traced a line down his inner thigh he twitched – a good sign – and when she gently held him he slowly, magnificently rose from the dead. Cathy was as proud as if she had performed a magic act.

He reached for her but she ignored him, instead sliding down to hold his shaft, gave it a slow, liquid kiss and then took him inside slowly, deeply, to withdraw just as slowly, her fingers stroking his balls. She felt him harden a little more; his legs spread a little wider. "Oh, Cathy, that's beautiful."

She began to work him with her hand and bobbed up and down a few times, quickly, then slowed again. Cathy remembered what Connie had told her and moved down over his legs to allow him to watch. A few more slow repetitions, taking him as deeply as she could, and then she looked up to make eye contact with him; another turn-on, she knew. But his eyes were closed, a look of pure bliss on his face; and instead she saw, behind him and through the door slightly ajar (I didn't leave it like that!), a sliver of bare thigh, and above it Connie's impish smile and a big thumbs-up.

Connie, you stinker, she thought. And then, oh, well, fair's fair. See how well you taught me, Connie. He loves it. And isn't he nice? But he's all mine, no sharing allowed. You have your own guy.

Paul was reaching down for her, so she quickly straddled him (Be careful, Connie!) and guided him in. Putting her hands on either side of his shoulders so that he could hold her breasts she began her movement, down and rocking forward, up and then down again. Paul closed his eyes again and she gave Connie a quick shooing motion with her hand. That's enough for you, just a quick peek, the rest is going to be more of the same; and Connie withdrew, reluctant but smiling.

On Sunday morning both couples rose late, very late, and met for brunch on the porch. Paul and Russell cooked, surprisingly handy in a kitchen, while Connie and Cathy, in great spirits, relaxed and giggled about the night before, each swearing the other to secrecy.

Later, Russell discovered that his jalopy had given its all on the trip north and would not run. After both men had their look at it, the verdict was that it was deadlined for parts that would not be available before Monday. This put a damper on their plans; Russell would now have to leave early. Plans were being made to get him to the airport until Connie suggested that she drive him to Bragg; she liked to drive, wanted to spend more time with Russell, would take Monday off. Reluctantly, Cathy and Paul waved them off.

******

The following week, Connie safely returned, Cathy met her for lunch and found her friend strangely subdued. It took a great deal of prodding to find out what had happened.

Connie related that the long drive to North Carolina had gone swimmingly; they chatted the entire time (it could not have been otherwise with Connie in the car) and had gotten to know one another in a new dimension. Connie discovered that Russell was far more thoughtful and conversational than she had credited; he was bright, interesting, and very interested in her, in what and who she liked. He was more of a home-and-hearth man than she supposed, wanted nothing more than a family and children. She began to get the idea that they might possibly go somewhere from her, that it might be a good thing.

She was afraid, however, that Russell saw her only as a good lay, and not without reason; she ruefully estimated that this trip aside, an embarrassing percentage of the time they had been together had been spent in bed. And so she hinted to Russell that perhaps her feelings for him were maturing and that she would like to see more of him in a different way, but she did so delicately, subtly, in a way that would not open her to a devastating rejection.

Russell, unfortunately, was not a subtle man, as Cathy had known instantly, and Connie's hints encouraged him but did not register with their intended weight. In fact, he was very interested in Connie; was infatuated with her. He found her intelligent, insightful, witty, street-smart, and much more than a lovable, ditzy sex machine; he felt uplifted when he was around her. But he could not bring himself to believe that she could seriously be interested in him; his head told him that his deployments had largely been the reason for his divorce, but in his heart he suspected it might be more. Perhaps he was a man for the army but not for women; perhaps he had not been a satisfactory husband in other, more important ways; perhaps it would be better for him to remain single, a melancholy future, he reflected. Connie had more education and in his eyes a better and more useful career (nursing enjoys a higher status in the army than in civilian life, for obvious reasons). How could she bring herself to love a man, want to stay with a man like himself? "Stay" was the operative word here; he had been left once and would not chance that again.