The Neallys Ch. 08: Into a New Year

The New York City Marathon

When she turned onto Central Park South, Suzanne Neally was unprepared for what she saw. She was in the final mile of the 2019 New York City Marathon. The street itself was empty except for a woman perhaps 150 yards ahead. Crowds lined both sides of the road as they had for most of the course. But she didn't realize that this long, three-block stretch was uphill. The Time-Warner Center was in the distance, defining Columbus Circle, where she would turn back into the Park. Her legs had been wobbly for miles. Will-power alone kept her going.

This was Suzanne's first marathon. Her goal was to qualify for the 2020 Olympic Trials, or "OT," in the marathon. She had no hope of actually making the team. But making the Trials would be huge. Her fastest half-marathon time was fast enough to allow her to enter the "elite women's" field for New York. This meant she and a relatively small number of women started about half-an-hour before the elite men and the first wave of other runners. The idea was that they would not get mixed up on the course with men but would have their own race.

Several of Suzanne's clubmates were in the group as were several strangers, all hoping to run faster than the 2 hours and 45 minutes OT qualifying time, and this group stayed together for the first sixteen miles or so as the truly elite women ran far ahead. Suzanne's group started to fray as it entered Manhattan just past mile 16. Now Suzanne was a half-mile from the finish and her time was 2:39:24. She'd seen Kerry and the rest of her New York family several times during the race. After she passed, they hurried to the subway to see and cheer her at the next rendezvous point.

Pushed by the crowd, she made it through Central Park South and again into the Park itself. She was desperate, telling herself it would soon be over. That was all that kept her moving. Past the "26 Miles" sign so 385 yards to go. Then she saw the finish line with 200 yards to go. The clock read "2:42:18." She had the whole road to herself for the final, slightly-uphill stretch and thousands cheering for her and her alone as she struggled through the finish, collapsing two steps after she crossed the line. "2:43:10." Two volunteers rushed to wrap her in a high-tech blanket before helping her to her feet. The woman who'd finished ahead of her hugged her and she waited to do the same to the teammate who followed about twenty seconds after she did.

After being led to her bag and given some recovery drinks and food, she went to meet her family in the elite family-reunion area. She trained so hard for this. Suddenly she was nearly bowled over as Kerry ran up to her a bit harder than she realized. The others were there too.

After a small get together at her Mother's apartment, Suzanne faded, and Kerry drove her home. Suzanne was too tired to shower, but Kerry made her. When dry, she collapsed onto the bed and was asleep within minutes. It was just after three, and Kerry gave her a kiss as she covered her with a blanket.

Kerry came in a little later. She gazed at her woman. Suzanne was never more gorgeous than when she lay exhausted, completely spent. So vulnerable. Kerry went for a cup of tea and some biscuits, and returned with a romance novel of the type that allowed her mind to drift away. She'd had a novel's worth of complications with Suzanne but now that they were settled, she used romances to live vicariously in others' worlds of missed opportunities and never-forgotten chances. Of separations and reunions.

She sat in the armchair in the room watching the up-and-down of Suzanne's breathing. As dusk hit, she turned a small table-lamp on as she read her book and drank her tea and ate her biscuits. And regularly gazed at Suze. It was one of the moments when she told herself, "I am happy." Her beautiful, exhausted Suzanne, having worked so hard over months and months so that she could do something largely arbitrary. An arbitrary time for a race of an arbitrary distance about which no one cared. Except, in the end, Suzanne and thus Kerry and the rest of her family.

It was dark when Suzanne roused herself. She was not expecting Kerry to be staring at her. "Hello, sleepyhead."

After being told the time, she was able to get to the bathroom. Kerry heard the water starting to run in the tub. She ran to get a sports drink from the fridge and brought it to the bathroom. Suzanne was sitting on the toilet seat, trying to muster the energy to get her body in the tub, its water now steaming. Kerry handed her the drink, and adjusted the faucet's temperature. She ran to the hall closet and brought back a box of Epsom salts, which she sprinkled in.

She had to help Suzanne get into the tub. The two women were quiet. Suzanne was the first to speak.

"I know I've been selfish with all the running I've been doing and couldn't have done it without you." Kerry told her to shut about it. "It was important to you so it was important to me."

Suze told Kerry to shut up. She continued, "Now that I've done a marathon, I've done it. I'll to the Olympic Trials in Atlanta in February, but I'm not training hard for them. I just wanted to see if I could make them. Just shorter stuff from now on."

They were again quiet until Kerry helped Suzanne stand to let the shower rinse off the salted water. Suzanne made it out of the tub. They went to bed after a small dinner.

Suzanne was tired, but thanks to her nap not too tired. Kerry pushed up Suzanne's shirt and knelt between Suzanne's legs and lovingly ate her wife out. They did this often when Suzanne was spent from training. Now that the exhaustion was the result of the race itself, it felt even better. It was simple enough. Kerry simply let her tongue explore the labia, almost lackadaisically, neither of them in a hurry. Just her tongue at first, and careful to avoid the clit. She liked to do the alphabet and by about P or Q Suzanne's hips began to rock slightly.

It was always like this, Suzanne trying to control her body. It was a challenge Kerry enjoyed, doing her best to take control—if anyone had control—over her lover's body. Suzanne had so much going on in her body and her head after the morning's race that it did not take long for her to surrender.

"In. In." Kerry wasn't sure whether she wanted a finger or a tongue to enter. But since her arms were wrapped around Suzanne's thighs for leverage, she hoped her tongue would be enough. It was. She made it into a tube and began stabbing into the vagina. Her nose ran across the lips, inhaling Suzanne's odor, which triggered Kerry's own faucet.

Her tongue got further and further inside Suzanne, but she pulled out. Far too soon, Suzanne thought. She pouted until Kerry moved over her. They both had shirts on but no panties. Much as she enjoyed what she was doing, she wanted to hold Suze, and she crawled up her wife's chest and they kissed lightly. Suddenly, Kerry rolled on her back, pulling Suzanne with her. Kerry lifted her knees and put up her left leg between Suze's thighs, and Suze lowered her pussy so she could rub against Kerry's leg. Her quads weren't as rock-solid as were Suze's—how many women's were?—but they were hard enough.

Kerry put her arms around Suze and pulled the two together, their lips pounding against each other. Suze wanted to taste herself, and her tongue circled Kerry to get as much juice as she could. Then their tongues were just playing as Suze brushed her pussy against Kerry's leg and Kerry ground hers against Suze's left leg, lifting her ass from the bed with increasing fervor. Neither could breathe properly but neither would release the other's lips. Kerry's grip on her wife's ass tightened and what had begun as simple, lackadaisical cunnilingus had exploded into something complex and manic.

Their lips broke their seal and their eyes took it on, egging each other on until Suzanne cracked and broke their stare, her eyes closing as the emotions of the day coursed through her, shaking her body as she drove her thigh into Kerry's pussy. Kerry, satisfied in having brought her love off, was herself lost in her own pleasure at the, well, thigh of the beautiful athlete to whom she was married.

After some clean-up in the bathroom, they were in bed early and quickly asleep. When Kerry awoke at some time during the night, she was tempted to take liberties with the body beside her but seeing as it was Monday thought better of it.

Thanksgiving 2019

As they drove down, with Eric Nelson quiet in the back, his mother Kate Pugh and Kate's lover Simon Douglas exchanged slight touches, which did not go unnoticed by Eric. He was pleased for her, having seen the deterioration of their family in Mill Valley, especially after Suzanne moved to New York. So he was happy to watch them, enjoying their being oblivious to their obviousness. Eric liked Simon, even if he was a hedge-funder living in Greenwich. His Mother warned him about going all Bernie Sanders on him—"You're going to Yale because your capitalist father is paying for it so don't get on your soapbox" or words to that effect over the phone the day before—and her tone made it clear that she was serious.

Thanksgiving would be big, and it was decided to hold it at the house in Chappaqua of Eileen (Kerry's Mom) and her husband Tom Doyle. Tom's two kids, Andrea and James (and his long-time girlfriend Jennie with him), would be there as would Kerry and Suzanne, Mary (Suzanne's Aunt) and Betty (Mary's wife), and Kate and Eric. Oh, and Simon. Kate, who'd proved her worth as an organizer for Tom and Eileen's wedding, was in charge and assigned tasks.

As for Andi, after a rough stretch, she'd returned to her old ways after her break-up with the man she thought was "the One" and who she thought was preparing to propose when he told her he was breaking up with her in the spring. All as described in Chapter 6 of our tale. Which meant that she was back to playing the field when she could find the time, given her workload as a doctor.

For the rest, it was status quo ante. Most had slipped comfortably into their lives with their new spouses. Kate was doing the same with Simon, and by the time dessert was on a side-table, pretty much everyone but Kate and Simon thought they knew what was going to happen between them.

As to them, she lived and worked on Manhattan's Upper West Side and he lived and worked in Greenwich. That didn't matter. The two were less than forty-five minutes apart. If there wasn't traffic. So Simon took to driving down to Kate's apartment a few days a week. He had this large, to-die-for house sitting empty, but preferred to spend his evenings with Kate in her two-bedroom.

Which, truth be told, did not feel cramped. Kate was used to the big house in Mill Valley, but she didn't need all that space and all the junk that filled it. So Kate and Simon fell into a routine. Their practice was to spend the week in the City and then Simone sent a car on Friday to bring Kate to Greenwich, where they'd spend the weekend.

The sex was good. They were compatible except insofar as they each were more concerned with the other's pleasure than they were with their own. They worked out a sort of détente on that score and both benefited handsomely from it. They were two people in their fifties in love with each other who enjoyed nothing more than being with each other and more than anything being in bed with each other and even more being naked in bed with one another and being intimate with one another.

So by Thanksgiving, all of the married pairs at the table recognized the signs. Kate was bossing everyone around to ensure that things ran smoothly and much as Simon rolled his eyes at her orders, they saw how happy he was to comply.

Since Tom proposed to Eileen in the house about a year-and-a-half before, the others expected that Simon might do the same with Kate. But, alas, it was not to be. In fact, in the thrill of developing their relationship to where it was, while both Kate and Simon had given much thought to getting married, they hadn't spoken about it. Each viewed it as something that would occur when it was time to occur.

They were not there yet. After finishing at Tom and Eileen's, Kate and Simon reversed the miles taken by Eileen years ago when she drove to Tom's house in Chappaqua after she broke up with Simon.

They brought some desserts with them and when they were in the cavernous living room drinking cognac to settle their stomachs and chocolate cake to satisfy a sweet urge, sitting on the sofa next to one another, they talked. Simon had put on, as he usually did at night, Beethoven. His violin concerto this time, though not too loud.

Both changed from what they'd worn to Eileen and Tom's. He was in gray sweatpants and a long-sleeve polo shirt and she in pajama bottoms and a Yale t-shirt. Their legs were on the coffee table, between their cognac snifters. The cake—a single, large slice—was on Simon's lap.

"You realize they expected us to tell them we were engaged don't you?"

Simon took a bite of the cake.

"I know. Have you given it thought?"

"Wait," Kate said, "isn't that your job?"

"It may be my job to ask. But have you thought about it? It hasn't been that long for you. Since your divorce. Since my dating. Since our . . . intimacy."

Kate reached over with her fork and got a bit of the cake for herself.

"I don't know. Part of me would say 'yes.' But I don't know if all of me would. I think it is too early."

"So do I. Believe me, though, I have thought about it."

With that, the subject was closed. With the cake eaten and the cognac drunk, Simon took the plate and glasses into the kitchen and put them in the sink. He checked the downstairs to be sure everything was locked, and then he went up to their bedroom. There was no doubt that it was "their bedroom." Kate had moved a good portion of her wardrobe there, though not much considering they spent most of their time in the City.

But there was zero evidence of Kate's wardrobe when Simon walked in. She was lying in the middle of the bed. Naked. Her right fingers were gently running along her folds, below her trimmed pussy hair. She was on her side, looking at him as he came through the door. He ripped his stuff off and his dick was hard by the time he was finished. He opened the drawer of a side table, and quickly got a condom. She shook her head. He put it on the table.

"69." It's all she said. She patted the center of the bed, and he took his position. On his back, his head toward the foot of the bed. She rolled and straddled him, her knees bent and her feet near the headboard. She lowered herself so he could smell her arousal as her right hand wrapped around his dick. He pulled her closer, his arms around her thighs, and she felt a charge run through her when the tip of his tongue came into contact with her vagina, peaking in slightly, tasting her wetness.

She concentrated on what she was feeling as she pumped her hand up and down Simon's dick. It took a moment for him to begin running his tongue up and down her folds and giving a kiss to her clit as he passed it. She couldn't stifle a moan, but collected herself enough to run her tongue along the top of his dick and then to put its head into her mouth. Once she'd put it entirely in her mouth they found an equilibrium of giving and receiving.

After not many minutes, Kate pulled off of his dick.

"Stop." She was breathing heavily. She rolled over. "Now put it on him."

Simon took a moment to recover before standing and rolling the condom on. While he stood, she got on her back in the center, her legs spread. He knelt between them, looking down. She nodded and her hand reached for him. Simon lowered himself, allowing her to guide him into her and they both gasped when he crossed her threshold, their eyes locked.

Simon gradually picked up the pace, encouraged by Kate's hands pulling his ass. He was on her chest, his hands gripping the top of the mattress for leverage, when their lips met but only briefly as they needed air. The expensive mattress was shaking finally as he ended with individual thrusts into her, plowing in and slowly pulling nearly out. He looked down at her, but her eyes were shut, trying to remove all stimulus except what she was feeling where they were joined.

She pulled him in tighter and would not relax her grip as she began to shake with the first wave of her orgasm. Her spasm was his signal to explode, and he held himself inside her as he came, several strings landing harmlessly in the condom.

Kate continued to shake until she had control enough of herself to release him, her hands flopping by her sides. He pulled out of her and rolled to his side, watching her placid face pull in air. She reached a hand over.

"I do love him."

"And he loves you."

With that Simon went to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed and she followed soon thereafter, and they both fell asleep in the sex-soaked bed.

Chicago: December 10

"Just go."

She'd been right. It was an easy thousand. Thirty, maybe forty minutes earlier she saw him sitting alone at the hotel bar. He had a half-empty (not half-full from how he looked) glass of scotch that he was shuffling slightly from side to side on the bar itself. Mid- to late-fifties in a very expensive suit. White shirt. Subtle but noticeable cuff links.

Lawyer or banker for sure. She couldn't dawdle. While the bartender would get his 10%, she couldn't afford to have the concierge walk in. That'd be an extra 10%, which she didn't like to pay unless he steered a guest to her.

It was easy enough. He had a wedding band on and he was sitting alone at a hotel bar on a Tuesday night a couple of weeks before Christmas.

After a few words of sympathy—generic words of sympathy since she didn't know why he was sitting at the bar—he finished his drink. She whispered "One thousand" in his ear, and he didn't blink. He nodded.

Within less than fifteen minutes of her first seeing him, they were in his room. It was a nice, upper-floor suite. There wasn't much light, but she had the chance to look at him. He was handsome. His hair was dark brown, cut short but not super short. Traces of gray gave him gravitas. His whole manner gave him gravitas.

After he handed her ten fresh one-hundred-dollar bills—he was "prepared" for this—she went to the bathroom to take care of some things. She brushed her teeth and reapplied her lipstick and ended by dabbing perfume behind her ears and in her pussy. She left her panties on so he could remove them later. If he chose.

When she returned, he was still in his suit. He sat in one of the armchairs that were angled out for a view over the Lake. He'd gotten a scotch from the minibar. He asked if she would like something, but she declined. The room was nicely if conventionally furnished, and the only light came from a tall lamp near the desk by the window.

She was twenty-nine. About five-seven. She was long-limbed with light-brown hair, which she wore slightly loose so it just passed her shoulders. Very simple earrings and one piercing along her right eyebrow. She was relatively flat-chested, but wore a push-up bra to enhance what she did have. She was tall and thin with an oval face. She had a bachelor's degree from Marquette and a master's from the University of Chicago. Her day job was working for a bank. Tonight she wore a scarlet dress with black pumps, beneath a faux-mink jacket as a concession to the Chicago cold. She had an apartment in Lakeview.

By then she knew, from the conversation in the elevator, that he was a big-deal lawyer from San Francisco. He emphasized that he wasn't married "civilly." She figured he was Catholic. Still wore the ring. With his glass on a side table, she bent down towards him. Her tongue traced his lower and then his upper lip. His hands remained on the arms of the chair but she heard a slight wanting from his lips.