The Six Feet Between Us

I laughed until I was almost crying, never letting go of Miri's hand, until the intermission was announced. Before the second movie started, the organist led the crowd in an actual sing-along. I knew almost none of the words, but Miri knew them all. She clapped and sang until her cheeks glowed red while I just clapped and tried to take everything in.

When the intermission was over, we watched a second movie—this one with sound—and again, Miri cuddled close against me. I couldn't help it, I swear, but through most of that second movie, I had a tightness in my gut and my pants as they strained to contain a hard-on that wouldn't go away. She wasn't even doing anything sensual. It was purely innocent. But just the closeness of her body to mine ignited a sexual energy that permeated my entire body.

I couldn't wait for the movie to be over, if for no other reason that it would afford me the opportunity to stand up and hopefully rearrange things. I hadn't determined how I might actually do that without her noticing, though, so I sat uncomfortably, waiting to find out.

In no time at all, the crowd again erupted in applause at the end of the movie and, quickly, the theater started to empty.

"Let's just wait," she said, "It takes a while to clear out." She looked down at our hands clasped together and smiled. "This is nice, Paul. I'm so glad you're my boyfriend."

"Yeah? For real?"

"Yeah, really, for real."

"In that case, you haven't seen anything yet." I stole her line, then leaned in for a kiss. It was gentle and sweet. Her lips were soft and tasted like salt, at first, anyway, but as the kiss continued and soon progressed, I reached my hand to her cheek and held it there lightly. In return, I felt her hand slide up my back, to the base of my neck, holding me firmly in place.

She leaned back. "That was really nice, but no... you're the one who hasn't seen anything yet, Mister." She closed the distance between us again and lightly traced my lips with hers, teasing an arousal from somewhere deep within me, and charging even the surface of my skin with passion. When I didn't think I could take anymore, she took me to yet another level as I felt her tongue, pressing fervently against my own, insistent and relentless to reach its goal.

Our tongues danced. Our lips tangoed. My heart fluttered. I don't even care if that sounds cheesy—that's exactly what happened. And then, the impossible...

Her hand snaked down my chest, landed on my crotch and, then, started moving.

"Miri..." I croaked, feeling an impending catastrophe about to unfold.

She covered my lap, and her hand, with my jacket, but didn't say a word.

"Oh god, Miri... I'm..."

Her fingers traced the length of my hardness, straining against the stretched confines of my blue jeans.

"It's okay, Paul."

"No, Miri, I'm gonna... No!... Oh my god!" I tried to keep quiet, so as to not draw any attention, but the realization that she knew exactly what she was doing to me threw my already heightened arousal into a frenzy. Her fingers continued to grope my hard-on as she leaned forward again, leading with her tongue and snaking it forcibly between my lips.

I could no longer verbalize anything, so I just whimpered into her mouth as she pressed even harder with an expert French kiss, simultaneously pressing her hand hard onto my cock, rubbing it in subtle motions, kneading and coaxing it ever closer to her desired outcome.

It was inevitable, of course. The fuse was already a short one and her ministrations so deliberate that any defenses I had posed no challenge for her. I wanted to say something, anything, maybe even just to grunt, but she swallowed my moans in her kisses while I erupted in my pants right there in the theater, all while people were still filing out around us!

It was orgasmic bliss and for a few frozen moments I didn't even care. I simply basked in the ecstasy she'd taken me into, a euphoria I could never have imagined before.

She continued to tease me with short delicate kisses, making it look more like a sweet couple being affectionate than the brazen act that it actually was.

I finally came down enough to think straight. "Oh my god, Miri. This is so embarrassing," I whispered.

"I think it's beautiful."

The long walk home was indeed just that. A very long walk home. There's nothing quite like walking several blocks with a dark spot over your crotch, because your boxers are filled with... well... cum.

It felt cold against my skin and yet, with each step, it teased my dick further into another erection that, once fully involved, persisted the rest of the way home.

Miri held my hand the whole way, occasionally stealing glances at my crotch when we'd pass under a streetlight and giggling her approval. I'd never felt so embarrassed and so accepted at the same time.

I wouldn't want to relive the ten minutes it took to exit the theater with cum-soaked pants on display for anyone to see. By the way, you can't really hide something like that and Miri enjoyed informing me of every time she caught another woman noticing her handiwork by tapping the front of my pants, as if announcing to the onlookers, "Yep, this is my doing."

As uncomfortable as that was, I wouldn't trade a single moment of our first date for anything. The venue was perfect. The evening was perfect. Miri was perfect.

We stopped at the front door of my house.

"Um, do you want to come in?" I asked nervously, unsure if the timing or moment was right.

"I really want to, Paul. But I can't. I need to get home."

"Oh, yeah, okay." I couldn't help feeling a little rejected. I was convinced she cared for me, perhaps already more than any woman had ever cared for me. But I was still disappointed.

"But I had a really nice time," she leaned in for a kiss.

Jokingly, I hemmed a little and said "Meh, it was okay. I mean, the popcorn was a little too salty and the..."

Miri wasn't in the mood for joking apparently. She'd reached both hands around to the back of my head and pulled me down, stealing my lips away for a deep, long, passion-stirring kiss.

When our lips finally broke, I opened my eyes and found the most beautiful face gazing back at me.

Miri was looking back at me with a similar ethereal glow to what we'd seen in the movie, when the protagonist's love interest gazed longingly toward her man and the organ piped a sweeping romantic melody as the actress's face shone bright through a softly focused lens. I wanted the moment to last forever, though I knew it couldn't.

"Well, Mr. Durant. This was a pleasant evening," she declared in a business-like tone. "I would be honored if you called on me again, sometime. I'm afraid I need to head home now, but I trust you won't abuse this too much until next time?" She reached down and cupped my balls through my jeans and quickly moved her hand up, feeling the shape of my hardness before giving it a squeeze.

A sound that I can neither explain nor spell escaped my lips—something between a gasp and a groan.

"Oh, gawd, Paul." She shuttered, losing all formality. "The things I want to do... but I really do need to get home."

I couldn't speak. In fact, I could barely stand.

"Oh, and you do know you owe me, right?"

We kissed once more, and then she disappeared into the night, leaving me to ponder everything she'd said (and done).

In case you didn't know, trying to piss with a hard-on sucks. For that matter, taking off blue jeans with cum-soaked boxers pretty well sucks too. But I managed to do both just a few short minutes after Miri had left.

I grabbed a wash cloth and soaked it in warm water, then cleaned myself up as best I could, before retiring to my bedroom and sprawling out naked on my bed.

My hard-on still raged, fueled by memories of the most perfect night ever. But I didn't dare touch it. At least for the night, I considered it the property of Miri and no longer my own. I just lay there spread eagled, reliving every second I could of the night in my mind, until eventually, I willingly bid 'good night' to my waning consciousness, sleeping to dream of Miri and all the new feelings she stirred in me, that I never knew were there before.

I hadn't had dreams in years or, at least, I couldn't remember them after waking. Suddenly, I'd had two in one night and Miri played the leading lady in both.

In the first, we were dressed to the nines and dancing in a ball room. Miri was adorned in an elegant neck to floor blue satin ball gown. Sequins of green beaded the embroidered-lace bodice, and the scoop neck teased just the right amount of cleavage. She was, of course, captivating. I was dressed in a classic black-tie tuxedo with high-gloss patent leather shoes and cuff links of silver. The type of get-up that can make any man look as suave as a Hollywood version of an international spy.

We spun and twirled and floated on air, while another, faceless, couple also spun and twirled and floated around us.

The mood was festive and jovial. The music was warm, and yet there didn't actually seem to be any music—only a silent beat, with a waltz-like rhythm, that we all kept time to.

Thump... thump... silence

Thump... thump... silence

I strained to hear the source of the rhythm, whatever it was, that drove our shared synchronicity, but my ears couldn't sense it. If I couldn't hear it, how could she? How could the other couple? How could we all be dancing to the same inaudible, yet synchronized, beat?

I craned my neck, but still couldn't hear it. I looked all around but there were no visual cues, but when Miri grasped my hand, I felt it in her pulse. It flowed through her body, as if the song had a heart and Miri was its host.

The music continued, in a party-like atmosphere. There were flashes of light and a sudden interruption of actual voices, singing out of key with words not understandable until, just as suddenly, the singing was over, leaving only the silent drumbeat again to sustain our harmonious dancing.

Then, without any warning, the silent drum beat stopped and we all stood still. Some men appeared. They were faceless, like the other couple, and not wearing tuxedos but mismatched suits.

Miri didn't want to go, but they whisked her away anyway, offering no explanation of why or where they were taking her. I and the faceless couple were left, alone but together. With the parting of Miri, the party was over.

The dream was confusing, at once joyful and a bit sad.

In the second dream, the boy from the shoebox photos appeared first. He was about the same age as Amélie, so around ten years old. Miri came and sat next to him on a bench in the middle of a park.

Green trees surrounded them, red buds in bloom with their rosy pink flowers. Red tulips lined the sidewalks and bright yellow daffodils dotted a hillside. There was also a lake, with a single white swan gliding effortlessly on the surface, its own body reflecting in the still water until it turned and the wake of its own swimming caused its reflection to disappear.

The shoebox boy was crying, though Miri was not. She was strong and attentive, with a sweet, motherly temperament.

The shoebox boy leaned over until he was resting on Miri's lap.

She patted his head and combed his hair with her fingers, repeating the same phrases over and over; "Everything will be okay... it will all be okay..."

Soon, the shoebox boy's tears dried up and he seemed to have forgotten why he'd been sad in the first place, though he wasn't exactly happy, either.

The second dream ended and I woke up feeling fresh and rested like I hadn't in months, if not years. I wondered where the place was in the second dream or if it was even real. I felt a longing to go there, though I didn't know why.

It had been a few days, and the memory of 'the place' continued to linger. In fact, I'd dreamed the same dreams several nights in a row and each morning, I woke up feeling rested and refreshed.

Against my better judgment, I decided to call my mom. I'd been ignoring her calls the last several weeks already, so I figured I was due to phone in to my maternal parole officer.

"Hey, Mom."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Very funny. How you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine dear. I've just been sitting here by the phone, waiting for my long-lost son to call me, that's all."

"You're wasting a nice guilt-trip. You know it won't work."

"Well, you can't blame a jilted momma for trying."

"Wow."

"Well, how are you, then? Are you doing okay? Not that I mind, but you don't usually call me."

This was true, and a part of me felt for guilty for it—a very small part.

"Yeah, I do have a question, and this won't make sense, but I'm trying to remember a place."

"A place? Hold on, let me put you on speaker. Your dad's been everywhere."

"Wait, What?! No, mom! Don't put him on the..."

"Who the hell is it, Mary?" the crotchety bastard grumped.

"It's Pauly. He has a question. He's trying to remember a place."

"Dammit, Mom!"

"Well, what is it then?" He clearly didn't want to be on the call any more than I did any longer. "You have a detail? A hint? Give me something to go on."

"Fine," I relented. "It looks like a park. There's redbuds blooming and I kind of think I pulled off one of the flowers and ate it. Does that sound familiar at all?"

"Nah, you used to munch on redbuds all the time," he grumbled. "Got anything else?"

"Okay. There's some tulips along a sidewalk. And a park bench facing a lake."

I heard my mom gasp, but she didn't actually say anything. In the background, I heard footsteps rushing from one side of the room to the other.

"And there's daffodils?" I continued. "And a swan on the lake..."

"What the hell's the matter with you?!" my father suddenly blasted. "Is this some kind of sick joke?!"

"Pauly, I'm picking up the phone," my mom quickly interrupted.

"Why, Mom? Does he know the place?"

"Um, no baby. He doesn't know the place." I knew she was lying.

"Of course, I do!" I heard my father raising his voice in the background. "That's St. Joseph's and you damn well know it, Mary!"

"What's St. Joseph's, Mom?"

"Nothing, dear... like you said... it's just a park..."

"The hell it is, Mary! Stop trying to protect the boy. Charlotte says we should tell him!"

"Who's Charlotte?" I asked.

"Oh, she's just some meddling woman your father's been seeing."

"What?! Dad's 'seeing' another woman?! And you're okay with that?"

"Of course, I'm not okay with it. Does it sound like I'm okay?"

"She's not just some woman and you know it, Mary! Why do you have to always do that? Just tell him, for god sake!"

"Fuck you, Ray! She's a meddling bitch! She doesn't need to know all our business!"

"Fuck you back! At least I'm trying!" my father yelled back.

"Who the hell is Charlotte?!" I raised my voice into the phone.

"I just told you, dear." Suddenly the background noise on the line grew quieter. She had to have left the house, perhaps escaping to the garage and blocking herself off in her car.

"No, Mom, you didn't. And listen, I honestly don't know if I'm ready or not for... whatever the hell we're even talking about... but I need to know. Do you understand? If I'm going to have a future, I need to know my past. You know I can't do this on my own, Mom. You guys clearly remember something I don't. I don't remember anything."

"The hell you don't!" my father suddenly roared from the background and somehow commandeered the phone. Apparently, he'd found her hiding place. "You know damn well what happened, Pauly! 'Selective amnesia,' my ass! I say you just need a couple of smacks upside your head!"

"Fuck you!" I blasted instantaneously, knowing full well what he meant by 'smacks' but, perhaps more importantly, it was the first time he'd used the term 'selective amnesia.' I wondered where he'd heard that term and from whom. It clearly meant he'd been talking about me with other people.

"Fuck me? Fuck me Pauly?!"

"I didn't stutter, you bastard! You don't get to threaten me with shit like that and you know it. I'm not a scrawny little kid you toss around anymore! And do me a favor and stop talking about me to other people. It's not something to brag about at the bar, you asshole!"

"What? Pauly, no," his voice suddenly quieted. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean I'd actually... Oh, fuck me, I did it again..." That was his version of an apology, or the closest I'd ever heard him get to one. "All I'm saying is you've got all the answers already. They're somewhere in your head. Charlotte says you just need a nudge." Though the tone in my father's voice had softened, it wouldn't last long.

"Oh, there you go again with Charlotte!" my Mom poked him right back into an argument.

The conversation, if you could even call it that, quickly escalated again to another fever-pitch.

"She's good for me, Mary. She's helping me. Why can't you see that?!" my dad yelled.

"Because you're probably banging her every week when you go see her, that's why! I'm not stupid, you know!"

"Well, you coulda fooled me, you thick-headed woman! Just because she's attractive doesn't mean..."

"So, you do think she's attractive! Just yesterday, you said you never thought of her that way. I'd say fuck you, Ray but maybe Charlotte already does! Do you love her, too?!"

"It's not like that and you know it! It's purely professional!"

"So, she's a whore, too?!"

"Fuck you, Mary! Your mind's made up but none of it's true!"

The fuck-you's would only continue, so I cut my losses and hung up the phone.

It was hard-earned, but at least I'd gleaned some new information. First, the dream was at least based on something real. A place named St. Joseph's. Second, my father was apparently fooling around with someone named Charlotte. I told myself I didn't care all that much about the second thing, except how much it clearly impacted my mom.

God, I hated those phone calls.

I didn't get a chance to talk to my mom about the other dream, the one with Miri and me dancing. For that matter, I still hadn't mentioned Miri to her yet. I'm not sure why.

It was a Saturday when Miri closed the shop for a lunch break and met me at my house so we I could bring her up to speed. She joined me on my front porch swing and we sat under a blanket while I explained to her the dreams I'd been having the prior couple of weeks. She had no theories to offer, but did say she liked the St. Joseph's dream slightly better. I had to agree.

"I like that you feel like I'd be there for you, to try to calm you and soothe you, because I would, you know?"

"Thanks, Miri. I know," she reached over and held my hand.

"Have you tried calling your mom again?"

"No, you have no idea how painful that is."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. You just don't know. It's not your fault or anything."

"Yeah, but still. I wish you could talk to your mom. Sure seems like she knows more than she's letting on."

"No doubt. But my father seems to know just as much."

"So maybe you could..."

"Ha! No! Not going to happen!"

"Okay, okay, but Paul, remember I'm on your side, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry if I..."

"No, it's okay."

We cuddled together on my front porch swing, savoring as much of the time we had left as we could.

"Well, we should probably get you back to work," I begrudgingly announced.

I started walking her back, at an extremely slow pace, while I continued explaining every detail of the dreams I could remember.