The Neallys Ch. 07: Kate Pugh

Kate watched in amazement as he did. It was the most primal sight she'd ever witnessed and that she had been its cause delighted her. She had made this beautiful man with his beautiful dick come. She gave little thought to it until she was on her knees and then she savored the taste of him, the feel of a dick full of life and heat and passion.

He reached for a towel and cleaned up the mess he made on the floor. He would not be stopped now. He could never have dreamed of what just happened to him, entirely as this woman wished. When she got up the pair toweled themselves off, lust joining the smell of cum in the small bathroom. Neither gave a shit that they were naked. Let the world see! He led her into the bedroom and she was on her back and he was above her, kneeling as she had, between her obscenely spread legs. She'd never been eaten. That was something too far for William, even in a not-too-Catholic mood. For Simon, it was something he enjoyed perhaps more than anything, feeling a woman respond to his tongue and his lips and his teeth. But much as he enjoyed eating other women, that was nothing compared to the pleasure he had as his tongue made contact with Kate's labia. She'd just showered, but her musk soon appeared in her arousal. She lay back, her eyes closed, her arms lying inert on the bed as she floated away, again experiencing something she could not have imagined just two hours earlier. As she adored his perfect dick, he adored her perfect pussy.

Kate was soon overwhelmed, physically and mentally. He sucked on her clit with two fingers in her, "Oh my fucking God, Simon, oh my fucking God" as her body shuttered and her ass bounced up and down on her bed. She pushed his head away when she was spent. She almost hated the satisfied look he had when she looked at him as he moved to lie next to her. She hoped it was a look she'd see again. She was that smitten with him, even while realizing she was acting like a schoolgirl.

"Now you can put your suit on again" she laughed as he got up to do that. "But I want you to stay."

"I'd like that."

"I'm a little hungry. I think I can pull something together for a snack" and, noticing his lascivious smile, said, "you are a bad boy," which, of course, only widened his grin.

He in his suit pants and untucked dress-shirt and she in her robe, they pulled things together for a couple of sandwiches and milk and sat to watch the TV as they ate. Watching and not talking was what they needed.

Right after ten, Kate heard a message coming in.

{Eileen: How did it go?}

"It's Eileen. I'll take it in the kitchen."

"Make her feel bad about settling for that bank flunky."

{Kate: He's still here.}

{Eileen: Damn. Did you???????}

{Kate: I don't kiss and tell.}

{Kate: But it was spectacular.}

{Eileen: WOW! Can we talk or tomorrow?}

{Kate: Tomorrow. He's staying the night.}

{Eileen: You slut!}

{Kate: You had your chance. I hope Tom was worth it.}

{Eileen: He is. Believe me. Sleep well. Love you.}

{Kate: And me you.}

{Kate: Don't tell the girls.}

{Eileen: My lips are sealed.}

{Eileen: BTW. How are his lips?}

{Kate: ALL of my lips have nothing but good things to say about his. Night.}

There wasn't much Eileen could say to that. So after staring at the last message for a minute, she responded.

{Eileen: I'm happy for you. I do love you.}

{Kate: Thanks. And me you. G'Night.}

And after an hour or so of TV, they tracked down where Simon's toothbrush had been thrown, got ready for bed—Kate tracked down own of Eric's t-shirts for Simon to wear with his briefs—and then slept together, both falling asleep pretty quickly notwithstanding how exciting each found it to be in bed with the other.

Saturday

Suzanne and Kerry drove down and found a parking spot on West 89th Street after circling the block only a couple of times. It was Saturday, perhaps thirty-six hours since Simon entered Kate. On Friday morning, a car picked him up early so he could get home, shower—the thought of doing it alone suddenly troubling—and get into the office by nine. They kissed as he left the apartment. He left it for her to ask about getting together again. And when she did, he jumped at the chance, and he said he'd meet her for brunch on Sunday and maybe they could spend the afternoon together "outside."

Kate told Suzanne and Kerry on the phone about her evening with Simon, without naming him, in broad strokes—"he spent the night and that's all I'll say"—and the girls were primed for details. Kate buzzed them in and they dumped some bags in the kitchen and plopped on the sofa and waited.

Kate sat across from them. "OK girls. What do you know about Simon Douglas?"

Kerry looked at Suze and back at her mother-in-law.

"You mean the guy my Mom went out with before she ended up with Tom?"

"That's the one. I've spoken to your Mom about him. I want your opinion."

Kerry said, "I met him when he first went out with Mom. I liked him. If it weren't for him, I don't know whether she would have responded when Tom approached her. She was so in her shell. I mean, I didn't see much of him. Mom just wanted to see what my first impression was and I liked him."

After thanking Kerry, Kate told the pair that she had a very nice evening with him and that he stayed the night, refusing to give any further details, ignoring their pleas. Although, frankly, Suzanne did not want to know.

"We're not saying that he is not the one. Just that you might want to do a bit of exploration before you dive in."

There was some irony in Suzanne saying this. She had one lover in her life and was sitting next to her on Kate's sofa. And her wife had only one woman lover, and that was Suzanne. Kate told them how wonderful the spontaneous sex had been with Simon, and Suzanne and Kerry got her to admit that he was only the second man—"person," she made clear—to whom she'd ever made love.

"Yeah, he might be it. I liked him when I met him briefly before Mom chose Tom. And more importantly, Mom really liked him too."

"She told me. In fact, she said not to go all the way with him because I might blow a chance for something long term and that Simon was one worth playing the long game for."

"So why did you have sex on the first—"

"It just happened. I made it happen and I don't regret it."

"Mother. You have to decide whether it was sex with a man or sex with this man."

After Kate said she needed to think about it, the three headed out to one of their haunts on Broadway for brunch and the subject was not again broached, though it was paramount in all three of their minds.

Sunday

Kate spent the next afternoon with Simon. He drove down. The couple walked to and across Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum. This was more their style than was the Guggenheim, and they wandered from gallery to gallery engaging in a conversation that except for a few stutters had all the earmarks of two long-time friends enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the Park.

They were both tired by the time they left the Museum, but Kate insisted on walking back to her apartment after they got some coffee at a place on Madison Avenue. They rested on two of the stools there, watching the people pass by and enjoying each other's company as they got their second winds. Eileen was right. Simon had a way with women, and to Kate, in particular, their comfort was in part the product of what they had done to and for each other on Thursday night.

After throwing their cups away, they headed west. Fall was in the air, and it started to get chilly so they quickened their pace. When they got to her apartment building, she very much wanted to ask him up and he very much wanted to be asked up. But she had promised the kids to ease off and after a "thank you, Simon, I had a wonderful time" and a kiss on the cheek, he watched her enter the building. Alone.

Until that moment, Simon was certain that he'd shortly be in her bed. As he walked to the garage where he'd parked, he replayed the day. He'd not put a foot wrong. His was not a calculated performance but one that was natural and he thought that the natural result would be holding her again. He'd lost Eileen to Tom and he feared losing Kate to . . . another man who was not him.

He was in a foul mood when he got back to his big house in Greenwich. As he sat with a Scotch on his deck overlooking the changing leaves, he continued his replay. He enjoyed every mundane second. But he was sitting on his deck alone except for Scotch and a great view.

His phone rang. He stared at it for a moment before answering.

"I need to explain."

"No need to explain, Kate. I had a great time and I hope we can do it again."

"I wanted you to come upstairs with me. Can we just talk for a few minutes?"

And for the next thirty minutes or so, Kate filled in details of her life. She ended by telling him that sex with him was, next to the births of her two children, the most satisfying physical thing she'd ever done and she knew that it would be as good the second and, she hoped, the thousandth time with him.

"But I promised my girls that tempted as I was—am—I wouldn't jump too soon. That's what I need you to know. I desperately wanted you and I swear if you were here right now—no, don't get in your car—I couldn't resist. But I had to will myself to step back. I just want you to know that."

Simon thanked her. She hoped he understood.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this call. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong."

"Now you know that you didn't. It's me. Look, finish your drink." He'd gotten up for a refill while they spoke. "Let's speak in a couple of days, OK?"

"OK. I had a great time."

"So did I."

And with that Simon's great view from his deck was infinitely brighter.

Thursday

Kate kept her word to Suzanne and Kerry. On Monday she called someone with whom she'd worked before the settlement from William allowed her to switch to working with the Episcopal Church. He was a widower and, she assumed, still single. With the girls' encouragement, she got the nerve to dial his number and he, of course, remembered her and, of course, would like to meet her for drinks on Thursday night.

His name was Martin Conroy and he was about Kate's age. His wife had died of breast cancer shortly before Kate met him. He was pleasant, intelligent, and attractive and was the first person who came to Kate's mind when she thought of dating again. But she had not done anything about him before Simon's voicemail.

His pleasantness, intelligence, and attractiveness were all there when they sat at a small table at a restaurant a few blocks from Kate's apartment. Things flowed well, so they stayed for dinner. It was a perfectly marvelous evening for both. They were relaxed and neither flinched at the occasional touching that went on between them. Reaching for bread. Passing the wine. Walking to the door.

Martin walked Kate to her building. With each step, both were thinking about sex as their shoe strikes echoed among the brownstones they passed. When they were two or three brownstones away from Kate's, she decided she wanted this man to fuck her. Had she turned into a slut? She'd slept with Simon on their first real date, with her initiating it. Now she wanted to sleep with Martin on their first. During that walk, she didn't care. She wanted this man to be inside her. She wanted to feel what she'd felt with Simon. But, were she honest, she wanted to know if Simon was special to her.

As they reached the stoop, she asked whether he'd like to come up. He, of course, said yes. Martin had slept with several women since his wife died, but none led anywhere. Perhaps he was still seeking a duplicate of his dead wife, while knowing there could be no such thing. Perhaps he knew she was irreplaceable so that he could enjoy the non-emotional side of dating with her ghost kept in a special compartment of his heart, part of his irreplaceable permanent-collection.

Whatever it was, it did not hinder his ability to enjoy making love to a woman.

As soon as they were in the apartment, Martin was upon her. His mouth hit hers hard and his tongue invaded her as his hands grabbed her ass. He pushed her against the wall and him against her so she could feel his erection. She tried to return the kiss, but he would not let her. He would be making love to her. She felt him take her right hand and lead it to his crotch as proof of either his desire for her or of how desirable he was to her. Perhaps more the latter.

It was hard through his trousers. Kate could almost feel it pulse through the material. She wanted to touch it and she wanted it to be inside her. As much as he wanted to fuck her, she wanted him to fuck her. He reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, stepping back so she could remove it. She stood in her lingerie and shoes in the foyer.

"I need water. Can I get you some?"

"Thanks."

He stepped aside so she could pass to her kitchen, and she was conscious of walking across her apartment in just her lingerie. It felt awkward. That he was staring at her ass as she walked felt awkward. She reached into the cabinet and took two glasses down, letting the water run for a minute to get cold and then filling them. "Ice?" she asked over her shoulder. "Sure."

When Kate turned to head back, she saw that Martin had closed the curtains in the living room and removed his shirt, and she knew he was posing for her. He was not in bad shape for a man in his late forties or early fifties, but his paunch was noticeable. She could just catch the outline of his erection, not quite as hard as it had been. She handed him his glass, and they both took long sips. After the glasses were put down on a table in the living room, he reached to her. Kate was aroused and now she ran her hand to his crotch voluntarily and felt him harden.

She undid his belt and unsnapped his trousers and . . . stopped. She took a step back.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not ready."

"What do you mean 'not ready'? Why'd you bring me up here?"

"I thought—"

"We can slow it down if you want." His arms reached to her.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm just not ready."

"Come on, Kate. I can tell you want me and you can see that I want you."

"I know I 'want' you but I also don't, if that makes any sense."

He grabbed his things and began to get dressed.

"I thought we could have something. You brought me up. I just can't figure out what you want. If you do, and it's me, call."

He finished dressing and she, standing in place, watched him leave. As he opened the door he turned and said, "Well goodnight then. It was . . . interesting."

Before he'd left the building, Kate was on the phone to Eileen, explaining what happened and trying to justify what she knew was a pretty shitty thing to do. And Eileen explained to her friend that if she didn't want to do it, it would have been pretty shitty to have done it.

"Look. I know I told you just to get laid, no-strings, but you're not wired that way. I'm not either, truth be told. I guess the lesson is that if you want to do it, it's because of a connection. It's not just sex for you. That's probably a good thing, but I know it may not feel that way now."

"Can I call him now?"

Eileen waited a breath or two.

"You could do worse. Far worse. Call him."

A minute later, she was on the phone to Simon.

"Simon, this is Kate. What are you doing Saturday?"

"Wow. I've nothing planned. What do you have in mind?"

"I want to take you for a drive."

"Do you have a car?"

"My daughter has an extra. I'll pick it up and then head up to Greenwich."

"No you won't. I'll drive down and pick you up and we can go from there."

"Ten o'clock. I'll pack a picnic lunch. You remember where I live right?"

Saturday

The car that double-parked in front of Kate's apartment—an address burned into his soul—shortly before ten on Saturday was a cut above the aged Camry that Kate planned to use. It was an Aston Martin DB11 convertible, dark blue with a dark-tan interior. It was one of Simon's few indulgences. He rushed to help her with two Zabar's bags and put them in the back seat. It was warm enough, just, to have the top down and he handed her a broad-brimmed hat with a chin strap. She also carried a sweater, as he suggested. Soon they were out of Manhattan and on the parkway into Westchester and the nearby country to the north.

They didn't speak much. For each, it was enough to be next to the other, their hands occasionally touching on the gear shift as the aired whizzed over their heads. About an hour north, they headed west to a park along the Hudson that Kate discovered online. They found a parking spot, and Simon removed the blanket from the trunk and a bottle of white wine that he'd stowed in the back seat and after handing them to Kate he took the bags, which were filled with cheeses and crackers and an Italian Hero and tomato-and-mozzarella on a baguette. Plus several cupcakes, with both vanilla and chocolate cake because Kate did not know which Simon preferred. She'd also put silverware, glasses, and napkins in the bags. The Zabar's logo branded them as city-folk to the others scattered about.

Simon led Kate to an open area of grass that had a view across the river and to West Point on its western bank, high above a palisade, its large, stone buildings like sentinels. She spread the blanket and they sat and spread the food and wine out between them. Simon told Kate more of his background, about his brief marriage when he was in his twenties, including how they both quickly realized it was a mistake. How he liked the semi-retired life and felt he'd paid his dues to enjoy it but was focused on settling down with someone. He confessed to being devastated for having lost Eileen. Something he'd never admitted to anyone.

For her part, Kate told of also becoming free and seeking to again settle down with someone she could love. It was quite intimate for the two, and after eating they were lying back on the blanket with their thoughts and their wine.

"Do you believe in God?" She had to ask.

Simon paused. It wasn't something he gave much thought to.

"I was sort of raised Catholic, but now I'm agnostic about it."

"Religion is very important to me. I want you to know that off the bat. It's what led to my divorce."

Simon raised himself to look at her. He reached and gave her arm a rub.

"It was about Suzanne, my daughter. Long story short, she came out as gay, I initially tried to 'save' her then she saved me. Choosing between my Church and my daughter was easy. I saw God differently and became an Episcopalian."

"Wait. You haven't always been an Episcopalian?"

"Roman Catholic all the way. My husband, my ex, couldn't adapt. It's why I'm divorced. Not in the eyes of the Church, of course."

Simon lay back down. Now she got up on one of her elbow and looked over at him.

"Without a church or a belief in God, what about your spirit?"

He sat up and they sat opposite one another, ignoring the passersby.

"There may be a God. I just don't believe in an active one. I see cruelty and can't believe that a loving God would inflict that on people. Especially children. Or like the one you ex seems to believe in."

"Suzanne has made clear that she'll welcome him back if he accepts her and who she is."

"Yet he hasn't. Who's the better Christian? I guess I agree with you. What kind of God would do that to a family? But I just go day-to-day, trying to be kind and considerate to others. If that's spirituality, I guess that makes me spiritual."