The Long Highway Pt. 17D

I realize I've gotten far afield from the night I was talking about when I went down on Akemi, reciprocating for her generous attentions last time and when she came I thought she might be faking and then we fucked and she went down on me. It was turning into a sweat fest. But I didn't break away to write about other stuff because I thought the scene too focused on the physical, boring- we could have been anyone, two pieces of meat having at each other- though that was true. I digressed for a bit because related details needed attention, details outside the bedroom but key to it- yeah, like a key to let the reader into the story. Stuff beyond the time and place matters enough to warrant interruption. Of course if anyone had come knocking at the door then, I'd have told them to come back later.

Akemi and I talked later, as I mentioned yesterday. In bed wasn't the right time and place. She said her orgasm was real and I didn't challenge that- there was no point.

Anyway, I broke the flow of words about that night, steered away far and longer enough anyone, especially someone busy with their own lives, might get disoriented, frustrated. I think some explanation is in order and not just here. Throughout the story I should provide some guideposts (on this "Long Highway"- the title is not arbitrary).

So let's get back. I'd "eaten" Akemi. She'd come- or might have- it sounded, looked like she had but that's no guarantee. We'd fucked and before either of us came this time Akemi "ate" me (stupid turn of phrase- I'm using whatever words I happen upon that seem best to convey what happened).

I can't promise no more digression. I'm not writing for readers only interested in sex- scratch that; people who think sex is only what happens in bed, I mean. I think sex happens everywhere.

"Wet," I said of the thing her hand grasped, caressed.

"Very," she said.

It was from her and me both.

I also thought of other people in my life, other days, my brother Thomas, who had moved out of town. Akemi and I drove to the airport to see him off. He'd meet us there. On the way, crossing a wide roundabout before a park, a cop pulled us over. There was empty space, the concrete low curved wall of a fountain, trees still distant enough their branches looked tight together, like they were fir trees. And then the policeman's hand was in view, before his face above eye level.

"You ignored a red light," he said.

I had my defense ready, could deliver it smoothly because it was based on the truth.

"I've been careful because I know the lights here are tricky."

They were, the intersection so complex it wouldn't take much to miss an important signal. Accidents seemed almost inevitable in such a place, where you had to keep swiveling your head as you advanced, watch several directions at once.

I was thinking all the way of being sure not to get a ticket. I might have gone through the light as it was changing but not afterward."

He said he'd give me a break (I think Akemi's smile reached his forgiving side), but he and his partner then began looking at the luggage we were bringing for Thomas. Did they suspect us of carrying contraband?

"What's in there?" the first cop asked, pointing to Thomas' guitar case. As it happened, they'd already looked in his bag, albeit cursorily, just slipping a hand in the top, penetrating the unzipped top enough to see rather than reaching all the way in, not going deep but proceeding without asking our permission, as if thinking Akemi or I might somehow hide something if given advance notice.

It felt like a violation, like the reach was into Akemi's pussy. Sorry I'm always on this, but how would you have felt with a big guy entering uninvited the inviolate, private space of your car. Akemi was wearing tight brown corduroy pants. They- she- looked good against the seats.

"A guitar," I said. "A folk guitar," I added, thinking that detail might reinforce my credibility- in fact, I didn't know much at all about Thomas' guitars, but the shape of the case suggested the instrument inside wasn't electric.

"It's an Ovation." I was able to recite the brand name. I've always thought Ovation was a good one.

Come to think of it, a guitar case is a logical place to hide drugs or anything else.

I'd seen less than I wanted of Thomas during his visit. He was busy with friends, conferring about a project that had brought him to the city for the short trip. He didn't even have time to come place to our place (where he'd stayed) before going to the airport. We'd brought his stuff to meet him there.

The last night we'd gone with his friends to see a movie and as we found our places I said to Thomas, "We should sit together so we can talk." It didn't happen, though (anyway, you can't have a conversation during a movie). Even afterward, out on the street, Thomas spoke with his friends, going over details of the project they'd continue collaborating on when he was back at his home on the other side of the country.

I guess the younger brother always feels he doesn't get all he wants from the elder he looks up to. Maybe I seek out mentors. Nelson comes to mind.

Speaking of driving, we were in a quiet residential street in the neighborhood where Thomas and I grew up, driving slowly, he and I talking about building we knew while Akemi listened and looked, and I pointed out one near Sixth Avenue, dark brick apartment building, tenement style, that was home to a woman I knew and liked.

"Cora. She was an interesting person."

"Where is she now?" Thomas asked.

"I think she and her family went back to Israel." They were Jewish but Italian. She had blond hair, which, I guess, made her unusual in Italy, blond straight hair, an incredibly intelligent, active but quiet face, slim, on the short side, with great energy. In the car, driving by her place in sight for brief moments- we didn't stop; nothing stops- I missed her, thinking of her no longer there, of all the people who leave our lives, sometimes without our noticing till years later.

I didn't miss Cora in bed with Akemi the night orgasms came in tandem. How's that for coming full circle?

to be continued